Transformers: Universe
by murtlewikisam
Summary: For far too long has war raged on Cybertron, destroying cities, livelihoods, friendships, and hope. Now, a grave error causes the battlefield to shift. Will their new surroundings bring the beginning of the war's end? Or is the Cybertronian race doomed to fight forever? - an AU of Transformers created by my brother and I.
1. Chapter 1

Here it is, the serious version of my silly AU. Any events that occur in this story can be considered canon to the comedy stories, but not vice-versa. Read at your own risk, as I have no writing schedule and it could be a year or more before chapter two gets done.

With that out of the way, this story uses characters from pretty much every TF continuity except the bayverse, and I'll leave notes at the end of each chapter as to which universe they're inspired by—for anyone who wants to know—so as to avoid spoilers. Constructive criticism, especially regarding grammar and spelling is much appreciated. Let me know if this too long, I'm thinking of splitting this into two chapters.

Here's some notes for those of you who care:

Nanoklik = About a second  
Cycle = A minute and a half  
Megacycle = Around two and a half hours  
Solar cycle = About a day  
Deca-cycle = 10 solar cycles/a Cybertronian week  
Orbital cycle = 32 solar cycles/a Cybertronian month  
Stellar cycle = 370 solar cycles/a Cybertronian year

Mechanometer = About a meter  
Hic = About a kilometer

Standard unit = About a kilogram  
Kilounit = 454 standard units

"Blah" = Dialogue  
 _'Blah'_ = Thoughts  
::Blah:: = Comms  
 _Blah_ = Flashbacks  
 _"_ _Blah"_ = Flashback dialogue  
 _*BLAH*_ = Sound effects

Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine, and neither are any of the characters in this fic aside from the random filler OCs, Comet, and Silverstreak, an OC I made ages ago before I knew that was an alternate name for Bluestreak.

* * *

-Chapter One-

"Stop him! He's got the plans!"

Jazz paid the roared command little attention as he busted through the latest of many roadblocks hindering his escape. The Decepticon stronghold was living up to its reputation of being near inescapable, but Jazz was one of the best when it came to espionage and gathering intelligence. Optimus Prime needed the information he'd downloaded onto the data chip, and he was not about to let his old friend down.

He slammed on the brakes when several Decepticons blocked the path ahead and skidded through the doorway off to the side, the laser fire from their weapons grazing his bumper. The angered shouts of the soldiers faded behind him as he worked his way back to top speed, glancing at his map to plot a new escape route. He was already on the ground floor; he just needed to get to the outside edge of the facility so he could blast a hole in the wall. His wheels squealed loudly against the floor while he made a hard left and activated his weapons, blasting at any unlucky Decepticons who happened to be in his way. Another left was made to avoid a mob of soldiers, followed by a right, the sound of enemy vehicles behind him growing louder. One final turn later, he loosed his missiles at the wall and drove through its remains, turning to avoid the rubble that littered the outside streets.

::Comet One to Glitch Mouse, what's your ETA?:: a voice inquired over a secure comm channel.

::ETA two cycles. Glitch Mouse has escaped the trap, requesting cover fire, over,:: Jazz replied, swerving to evade enemy bullets.

::Request acknowledged, Comets inbound.::

When a few bullets came a little too close for comfort—nicking his side—Jazz directed his guns backwards to return fire and scored a direct hit on one of his pursuers. The Decepticon spun out and collided with one of his buddies, the two vehicles slamming into the nearest building with a loud crunch.

"You'll pay for that, Autobot!" one of the others hollered. The white sports car that had been beside the neutralized Decepticons unleashed a new barrage of laser fire, causing Jazz to swerve again.

A white-hot pain seared through the circuitry of his side when he failed to dodge all the blasts, though despite the pain he managed to get back on course. He hadn't expected a Decepticon to be so vengeful for his comrades. It wasn't the usual reaction. He gritted his denta and shot back, willing himself to go faster. He was built speedy, but he wasn't built _for_ speed. _'Scrap!'_ he cursed when he heard jet engines. Jetfire—AKA Comet One—was too far out to be there already, which meant that Jazz had more company. _'Fine then, Decepticreeps. You want to dance? Let's dance!'_

* * *

Elsewhere on the planet, a gray seeker with red and blue accents was flying his way to Hyperious to await word from the Decepticon leader, with a stop in Forza on the way. As second-in-command of the Decepticon army, the jet answered only to Megatron, yet even that was too much. He wanted to be in charge. He wanted every Decepticon to heed his every word. Still, he could be patient. Now was not a good time to make his move, but one solar cycle, Megatron would fear the might of—

::Commander Starscream, sir!::

Starscream frowned at the voice cutting into his thoughts. ::What is it that couldn't wait until I arrived, Acid Storm?:: he snapped.

::The base has been compromised. An Autobot has stolen information on Project Trypticon! We're in pursuit of the intruder now, but—::

:: _An_ Autobot?:: Starscream interrupted, his tone deceptively calm.

::Yes sir,:: Acid Storm replied.

::As in one measly, single, _solitary_ Autobot?::

::Err . . . Y-yes sir.:: The sudden stammering of the other seeker on the line implied that he'd figured out where Starscream was going with this.

::And am I to understand that you _haven't_ caught this intruder?:: Starscream continued, a dangerous edge to his voice.

::. . . N-no sir. We're still in pursuit.::

::I see.:: Starscream fell silent for a few moments after that, increasing his speed to arrive at Forza sooner.

::. . . Commander Starscream? . . . Sir?::

::You _IDIOTS_! You outnumber this Autobot by over a thousand and you _still_ can't catch him!?:: he shouted.

::H-he's very—::

::I don't want your excuses, I want results! You _will_ catch that Autobot or I will have the head of the Decepticon responsible for this oversight, do I make myself perfectly clear!?::

::Y-yes, Commander Starscream sir! Acid Storm out!::

Starscream didn't bother to respond before the other Decepticon signed off. He had more important things to attend to. Like arriving at Forza before those half-wits managed to mess things up any further.

* * *

Jetfire's engines roared as he led his team to Forza. The hope had been that Jazz could get in and out without attracting attention and avoid the need for backup. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the Decepticons were in a perceptive mood. ::Comet One, requesting roll call,:: he stated when the ruined skyline of the city came into view.

::Comet Two, standing by,:: Silverbolt answered, the aerialbot easily keeping pace with Jetfire.

::Comet Three, standing by,:: said Slingshot.

::Comet Four, standing by,:: Fireflight chimed in.

::I thought _I_ was Comet Four,:: Air Raid wondered aloud.

::No, you're Comet Five.::

::I thought Skydive was Comet Five. Y'know, because it rhymes?:: Slingshot interjected.

::No, no. I'm Comet Six,:: Skydive corrected.

::See, now I thought Fireflight was supposed to be Comet Six,:: Air Raid muttered in confusion.

::Can we focus, please?:: Jetfire groaned.

::Yo, Comet One, Glitch Mouse is getting pelted by seekers. Whenever you wanna show up, your help will be appreciated. No rush.::

Jetfire's attention snapped back to the city when Jazz's voice interrupted the aerialbots' confused chatter. ::Hang in there, we're coming,:: he said before switching back to the team line. ::Anyone have optics on Glitch Mouse?::

::I see him, sir,:: Skydive answered. ::He's about one hic to the right of the old crystal gardens, and approaching fast.::

::I count seven hostiles in the air,:: Fireflight added. ::Twenty six more ground bound.::

::Right.:: Jetfire opened the community comm line that connected him to the other three aerialbot teams. ::Star Team and Moon Team, cover the flanks. Everyone else, move in, over,:: he instructed before signing back into the Comet comm line. ::Slingshot, Air Raid, and Fireflight, strafe low and get some of those grounders off of him. Comet Two, Skydive, and I will engage the aerial offense, over.::

::Uh . . . Aren't we supposed to use code names?:: Air Raid inquired, changing his flight path to get low.

::We are, but you all can't keep your numbers straight, so proper designations it is,:: Jetfire retorted, gunning his engines to combat the enemy.

He, Silverbolt, and Skydive flew into the fray with their guns blazing, and Jetfire couldn't help the small feeling of smug satisfaction when one of the enemy seekers went down within nanokliks.

::It's about time, Comet One,:: Jazz quipped, taking advantage of the Decepticons' distraction to put some distance between them and himself.

::Hardy-har-har. Just get yourself to the hole in the wall,:: Jetfire deadpanned. He locked onto a bright green seeker's tail and followed him into a reverse scissors, careful to keep focused on the Decepticon's optic-searing paint job.

::Is that any way to speak to your superior officer?:: Jazz's voice was amused, which was hopefully a sign that he had gotten away. ::Just gotta shake one more 'Con, then this Glitch Mouse can get into his hidey-hole.::

::Copy that. I'll send Slingshot your way.::

::Slingshot? What happened to Comet Three?::

::Don't ask.:: Jetfire tightened his turns slightly and prepared to fire on his opponent. ::Slingshot, Glitch Mouse has one more 'Con on his tail. Take him down.::

::Roger that, sir.::

There. The opticsore was right in his sights. He just had to fire and—"Augh!" Pain shot through his sensory net when something smashed into his wings, his attention turning outwards to find the cause. "Starscream!" he growled. The Decepticon Air Commander had flown above him and transformed, landing on his wings.

"Jetfire. Always a pleasure," Starscream hissed back, a servo poised to tear away at Jetfire's wing plating.

Jetfire quickly executed an aileron roll to shake the other seeker off and transformed. "A pleasure?" he snorted. "That's not what I'd call it." He transformed his arm into an EMP shotgun and fired.

Starscream jetted to the side to evade the shot, then fired up his thrusters to get into close range. "Semantics, Autobot." He delivered a swift right hook to Jetfire's faceplate with a conceited smirk.

Jetfire grabbed Starscream's wrist and countered with an uppercut. It seemed the other flyer wanted to fight up close and personal. Fine then, he could oblige.

* * *

Jazz felt a palpable bit of relief when Slingshot chased away the vengeful white Decepticon that had been tailing him incessantly. All he had to do now was get to the hidden switch-off point and hand the data chip to Hot Shot, then drive off towards Marcon as a diversion. Easy-peasy. He turned to drive under some wreckage to disguise his route, taking a few cycles more than expected to arrive at his destination thanks to his pursuers.

Soon enough, the switch-off came into view. "Yo, Hot Shot! I got something for you!" he called, transforming to sprint the last few mechanometers to the other bot.

"Jazz! I was beginning to think you stood me up," Hot Shot teased, taking the data chip from Jazz's outstretched servo.

"Hey now, the Jazzmiester doesn't go no-show on his pals," Jazz laughed. "Just get that to Crystal City, speed demon. If all goes well, they won't even know you were here."

"No prob." Hot Shot gave Jazz a conspiratorial wink and transformed into his sleek, aerodynamic vehicle mode. The ex-racer would be able to deliver where Jazz couldn't: in the speed department. "Later, Glitch Mouse!" he called. He turned around and sped off, the tuned roar of his high-performance engine joining the squeal of his wheels in a speedy symphony.

His mission accomplished, Jazz changed back into his vehicle mode and exited the switch off in the opposite direction. "Later, Comet Seven."

* * *

Optimus Prime sighed as he stared out the window. The view from his office on the seventh floor of the Autobot base was failing miserably at being a distraction for him. This was taking too long, was everything alright? Or was he just worried about the soldiers he had come to consider friends?

"Standing there worrying is not going to bring them back sooner, sir."

Optimus let out another sigh at the monotone voice behind him. "I know, Prowl. Though I find that as long as I'm unoccupied, my processor tends to think up the worst outcomes."

Prowl—one of his third-in-commands as well as his chief tactical officer—walked over to his side, looking out the window. "Outcomes and variables are not something to dwell on when you can do nothing," he said quietly.

Optimus looked down at Prowl, eyeing the shorter mech's pensive expression. "What happened to Praxus was not your fault, my friend," he stated softly, hoping that the praxian was not still blaming himself for the destruction of his city. "Bluestreak doesn't blame you, and neither do I. Megatron had everyone fooled."

Prowl's doorwings sunk slightly in a way that was impossible to notice unless you knew the mech. "I know. Logically, there was no way for me to have predicted that Praxus was their target, nor could we have arrived any sooner than we did. However, I cannot help feeling somewhat . . . at fault for what happened." The mech's optics dimmed for a nanoklik before he turned his attention back to Optimus. "So, you need something to occupy yourself with?"

"Anything but paperwork," Optimus replied, seeing Prowl's wish for a different subject.

"Then perhaps you could check in with your brother at Marcon?" the TIC suggested. "I was going to have Blaster do it, but you appear to be in desperate need of a distraction."

"Blaster?" Optimus repeated. The name didn't sound familiar to him.

"The new Head of Communications." Prowl eyed the Prime. "Did you actually _read_ those reports and memos I gave you, or did you just _say_ that you had read them to appease me?"

Optimus squirmed under Prowl's critical gaze. "I . . . read some of them." The ones marked as 'important' or 'crucial' that is. Prowl knew how to write a report, but he could be very long winded at times.

"I see." Optimus had a sinking feeling that he was going to get an audiofull later. "Well, we have received a new squadron of troops from Perihex, and one of our squadrons was sent to Marcon to help build up their defenses. That is why we need to check in with them."

Optimus snuck over to his desk once Prowl turned to the computer console and dug out the reports. Leafing through the data pads, he discovered the memo in question and skimmed it through. "Fifty three new bots, impressive. Who was sent to Marcon?"

"The third squadron," Prowl drawled in reply. "Which you would know if you had actually _read_ the report rather than skimmed it. Red Alert and I both have lists of the new transfers if you wish to see them, and Red Alert is on his way to check in with them as we speak."

The Prime blinked. Prowl had optics in the back of his head. He was certain. _'The third squadron . . .'_ He knew several bots that were part of that particular group personally. Trailbreaker for one; and two of Prowl's brothers, Sideburn and X-Brawn. "Sideburn and X-Brawn are in that squadron, right?"

"Yes."

"I thought so, and Bluestreak isn't?"

"No. Bluestreak is still here."

"This seems like important information," Optimus started, raising an optic ridge and looking over at the praxian.

"It is. Which is why you should read reports rather than ignore them."

Optimus winced. Prowl wasn't going to let that go for a while. "So why wasn't it labeled 'important?'"

"Jazz wrote it," Prowl replied, as if that one simple fact explained everything.

"Oh." When Prowl didn't elaborate, he decided to probe for more details. "Well, why didn't _he_ label it as important?"

"Such labels are not necessary, and Jazz does not deal with the unnecessary in his reports. It is 'too much work,' as he says," Prowl answered, his disapproval of his fellow TIC's apparent laziness regarding paperwork bleeding into his tone.

Optimus blinked again. "They aren't necessary?"

"No."

"Then why do you always do it?"

"I like to prioritize my reports," Prowl responded blandly, turning to face his leader. "That, and to not do so would be to doom them to forever gather dust on your desk," he added with a pointed look.

Optimus cleared his vents with a quiet cough before meandering over to the console. Prowl had his lecture face on. It was time to change the subject. "Teletraan-1, contact Marcon's main computer."

"Contacting . . ." the supercomputer droned.

A familiar face answered the hail, appearing on the view screen. "Greetings, Optimus Prime, Prowl. What may I assist you with?" the bot asked with a small smile on his face.

Optimus smiled back. Seeing old friends always put him in a good mood. "Hello, Perceptor. It is good to see you again. I need to speak with Ultra Magnus, if it's no trouble."

"Not a problem at all! Patching you through post haste, Prime," Perceptor replied.

The display shifted from Perceptor to Ultra Magnus shortly after, the large mech taking up most of the screen. "Optimus! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hello, Magnus, we're calling to see if the third squadron arrived safely," Optimus greeted, his face lighting up upon seeing his brother.

"Ah, yes. They all arrived here a short while ago," Ultra Magnus replied. "How go things at Iacon?"

Optimus smiled. "Very well, thank you." He needed to remember to thank Prowl. This was definitely the distraction he needed.

* * *

Jetfire's frame ached from the punishment he was receiving at the servos of Starscream. One could make fun of the Decepticon all they liked, but at the end of the solar cycle Starscream was still a force to be reckoned with in combat. Jetfire gave the other seeker a roundhouse kick to the side and took another shot with his gun, but unfortunately Starscream was living up to his reputation of being the fastest seeker around. He winced when the seeker landed a solid punch on the side of his face and grabbed Starscream's other arm, slinging him into the side of a building.

Starscream shoved off of the building to dodge another blast from the shotgun, but seemed to get momentarily distracted by something behind Jetfire. "Hmmm . . . very clever," he stated, flashing him a nasty grin. "But not clever enough!" He transformed back into jet form and rocketed off.

Jetfire stared after him, trying to figure out what exactly Starscream was talking about when suddenly—"Aw, slag!" He followed Starscream's lead and changed back to jet mode to give chase. ::Attention, Comets! Comet Seven has been spotted, provide cover fire, over!:: he barked over the aerialbots' comm channel. He closed in on Starscream's tail and took aim, unleashing a barrage of laser fire on the Decepticon.

::Roger that, Comet Two inbound,:: Silverbolt answered, soon joined by a chorus of other replies.

Starscream rolled out of the path of the lasers and chuckled. "Did I find something I wasn't supposed to, Autobot?" he sneered, moving up into a loop. "Your comrade is going home in pieces!"

"You talk too much, Screamer!" Jetfire shouted, following him into the loop. ::Comet Seven, you've got company, step on it!:: he said to Hot Shot. The code name of Comet Seven was _supposed_ to make the Decepticons think they were just speaking to another aerial bot should the communication be intercepted, but it seemed almost pointless at present. Why did Starscream have to be so observant?

::Gotcha, Comet One. Going as fast as I can,:: Hot Shot replied. Jetfire had to admit that Hot Shot's top speed was impressive, but compared to the speed of a jet, it wasn't enough. It was up to Jetfire and his team to get rid of his pursuers.

"I merely speak the truth, Jetfire. I don't see how it's my problem if you can't accept it!" Starscream continued with his mocking, coming out of the loop and transforming to turn around. He took a quick shot at Jetfire before the Autobot's momentum caused him to soar by him, then switched back to vehicle mode.

Jetfire had to admit he felt a lot like prey when he and Starscream started to fly in a reverse scissors, both seekers taking shots at the other but neither making any hits. He just had to hope that he could out-fly Starscream long enough for Hot Shot to get away.

* * *

Hot Shot could feel his systems struggling to maintain his top speed, but he wasn't about to slow down. Not when Starscream and his cronies were onto him. Technically, he had two top speeds: the fastest he could go while remaining comfortable, and the fastest he could go period. At present, he was doing the latter. Hopefully that—combined with Jetfire's team—would be enough to keep him in one piece long enough to get to Crystal City.

He swerved around some rubble on the outskirts of the city, willing himself to imagine that he was in a race back home in Velocitron. The panic that threatened to set in whenever he was on a mission like this always preyed on his focus, made him more prone to mistakes. Pretending he was in a race helped him to relax, and he still got an adrenaline rush from the bots behind him. A win-win in his processor. He veered around a corner and finally left the city limits, the fight above him thankfully staying there for the most part aside from a few laser shots that nicked his sides.

He checked his map to ensure he was going the right way, then opened a comm line to Jazz. ::Hey, Glitch Mouse. I've been spotted. Care to follow in case of ground hostiles?::

::You were spotted already!? I haven't even left the city yet!:: Jazz exclaimed incredulously. ::What happened?::

::I dunno, ask Comet One.::

::Whatever. I'll alert my old destination of the change to the plan. I'll be right behind you. And by right behind you, I mean _far_ behind you, Speedy.::

::'Kay. Comet Seven out.:: Hot Shot soon found himself wishing he wasn't quite so low to the ground, the cracked and abused surface of Cybertron taking its toll on his undercarriage. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow—" If only the highways weren't in the same condition. This was going to be a long drive.

* * *

Iacon was a much larger base than Perihex. That was one of the first things Sideswipe noticed about it when his squadron arrived in the city. Larger and less prone to sudden attacks. He was currently standing around with his comrades, waiting for one of the officers in charge to come show them around and looking around the room with a wide-opticked expression. His brother, Sunstreaker, had opted to simply sit down and do nothing. How boring.

"Sideswipe?"

Sideswipe's head snapped around at the voice. "Blue?" A large smile appeared on his face when he saw a familiar figure running over and waving happily. "Bluestreak!" He scurried over and met the other bot halfway in an excited hug. "I didn't know you were here!"

Bluestreak laughed and pulled out of the hug. "I didn't know you were coming, I forgot the number of your squadron. It's great to see you!"

"Same, it's been a while. How've you been?" Sideswipe asked.

"Pretty good. Sideburn and X-Brawn were just sent to Marcon, your squadron is replacing theirs," Bluestreak replied. "How are you and Sunstreaker?"

"Good. Perihex was sorta hectic, but nothing we couldn't handle. Sunny's as stubborn and quiet as ever." Too quiet, in Sideswipe's opinion. It was like pulling denta to get a normal conversation out of him sometimes. It was one thing to be a quiet individual, but it was another thing entirely to suddenly stop talking to family for no apparent reason.

"Sides?"

"Eh?"

"He still not talking to you?" Bluestreak asked quietly.

Sideswipe sighed. "Well, not exactly. He'll talk to me but he won't _talk_ to me, if that makes sense," he explained, keeping his voice low so Sunstreaker couldn't hear. "It's like I'm talking to a friendly acquaintance or something, not my brother."

Bluestreak gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat and smiled. "I'm sure he'll come around."

Sideswipe smiled back. "I hope so."

The praxian's smile grew a bit teasing. "I know something that'll cheer you up. Guess who else is here?"

"Uh . . . Jazz?" Sideswipe tried, wondering who else could be here that Bluestreak thought would make him so happy.

Bluestreak snickered. "Well, yes, but that's not who I'm talking about. Besides, he's off on a super hush-hush mission right now."

"Okay . . ." Wracking his processor, Sideswipe tried to think up someone else he'd be happy to see, and that Bluestreak actually knew that he knew. "Uh . . . I . . . got nothing. I give up."

Bluestreak leaned in close as if he were divulging a huge secret. "The Commander of this base is Optimus Prime himself! You can meet your hero!"

Sideswipe stopped processing words at 'Optimus Prime.' He stared at Bluestreak with a shocked expression. "Optimus Prime?" he repeated, sounding about as awestruck as he felt. "As in _the_ Optimus Prime!?" His excitement grew when Bluestreak nodded. "He's here!?"

Bluestreak gave another amused nod. "Mmhm. I knew you'd be excited!"

"Excited!?" Sideswipe repeated, ignoring the confused and/or amused looks his fellow soldiers were giving him. "Excited doesn't even _begin_ to describe it! He's _Optimus Prime_ Bluestreak! Do you know how long I've wanted to meet him?"

"Yes."

"Holy Primus, I can't believe he's _here_ —!" He stifled his over-enthusiastic fanboying before it could get too far out of control, though he still ended up rocking on his pedes and giggling like a youngling. "I hope I don't do anything stupid. I don't wanna make a fool of myself in front of Optimus Prime," he fretted, his servos clasped in front of him.

"Sideswipe, sooner or later you make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. It's part of your charm," Bluestreak stated soothingly, patting his shoulder again. "Power to the weirdos, remember? Besides, Optimus likes all of us, I'm sure he'll like you. And just between you and me, he's a huge goofball at spark." Bluestreak whispered the last part, looking from side to side as if he was giving away sensitive information.

Sideswipe laughed. "Thanks Blue. You really know how to make me feel better. So, when's that Security Officer of yours getting here?"

"Head of Security, and . . . I don't know actually. When did you get here?"

"Ten cycles ago," Sunstreaker cut in from behind. "He's just impatient."

Sideswipe rolled his optics at his brother's words. "So I don't like staying in one place for long, big deal."

"To answer your question, Sides, there he is now," Bluestreak said, pointing off to the side.

Sideswipe looked in the indicated direction and blinked. The bot looked an awful lot like him, albeit with a white and red paint job instead of red and black. He appeared almost _excited_ as he walked into the room, coming their direction and staring at a data pad that he held in his servos. His behavior seemed familiar in a way, but he couldn't place it. "What's he like? Do you know him?" he asked Bluestreak, his optics not straying from the security mech.

"Not really. He and Prowl are friends, but beyond that I don't really know that much about him," Bluestreak answered with an apologetic shrug. "Hi," he said to him as he passed by.

"Hello, Bluestreak," the mech responded, glancing up for an instant. He had started to continue on his way when he suddenly came to an abrupt stop, turning his head to stare at Sideswipe with a somewhat happy expression.

Sideswipe quickly smiled back. The guy seemed friendly enough, hopefully that meant a new friend right at the start of this new assignment. "Hi! Name's Sideswipe!" he chirped, holding his servo out in offering. He suddenly remembered that Bluestreak had never actually said the bot's name, so he added, "What's yours?"

The mech's smile turned a bit confused, which didn't make much sense because it was just a simple introduction, what could be so confusing about it? What followed made even less sense to Sideswipe. There was a glint of something—either pain or offense, Sideswipe wasn't sure—in his optics, then he glanced over at _Sunstreaker_ of all mechs—who merely raised an optic ridge at him—before his expression soured completely. He let out an offended sounding grunt and turned on his heel, continuing on his way without another word.

"Hmph, rude much?" Sunstreaker grumbled, now beside him.

Sideswipe wasn't certain when his brother had moved, but he had far more pressing things on his processor. Like what had gone wrong with the security mech. "Was it something I said?" he asked, staring after him in shock.

"I . . . don't _think_ so," Bluestreak replied, looking about as stupefied as Sideswipe felt. "I'm pretty sure that's how _I_ introduced myself."

The mech finally reached what was apparently his destination and cleared his vents loudly to get everyone's attention. "Hello, bots of the thirty-eighth squadron. I am Red Alert, Head of Security here at Iacon." So that was his name. "I'm here to make sure that you are all present, and to brief you on how things work around here. We'll start with a simple roll call to ensure you're all where you're supposed to be." The good mood Red Alert seemed to have when he had arrived had evaporated, replaced by a grumpy and borderline irritable one.

Sideswipe leaned over to whisper to Bluestreak as Red Alert continued. "Is he always this grouchy? And for that matter, does he greet everyone the way he greeted me?" he asked, watching the mech with rapt attention.

"No, and no," Bluestreak replied.

"So that really _was_ as weird as it felt?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

* * *

Jetfire's engines roared as he streaked across the sky after Starscream, a chorus of other engines backing him up when his team fell into formation around him. He had always hated the fact that Starscream could out-fly him, but that hatred had reached a new peak when they'd ended up as the air commanders of their respective factions. As it stood, he could never keep the other seeker distracted for very long in aerial combat when Starscream was determined enough, which was proving to be a massive problem for Hot Shot.

::Jetfire—!:: the racer yelped over the comm when a shower of laser fire narrowly missed him on one side.

::We're working on it!:: Jetfire snapped back. He hoped Hot Shot understood that his anger wasn't directed at him.

::What's the plan, Comet One?:: Air Raid asked.

::Swarm him,:: Jetfire growled. ::We don't need to shoot him down—though that would be preferable—we just have to keep him off of Hot Shot's tail.::

::Um . . . is swarming really a plan?:: Skydive questioned.

Skydive's inquiry fell on deaf audios as the rest of the group proceeded to unload their weapons on the Decepticon, forcing Starscream to move or be blown to bits.

"Slag!" Jetfire cursed when Starscream flew into a banking turn. ::He's coming back bots, scatter! We'll form up again after!:: Starscream finished his turn just as the last of the group flew out of the way, then came at Jetfire—guns blazing—in an aileron roll, causing the Autobot to pull up to avoid getting blasted. Off to the sides, he could see his team trying to form back up to assist, but it seemed Starscream's own troops had arrived and were serving as a powerful intervention. Suddenly, an idea began percolating in his CPU. ::New plan, take those seekers down. I got Starscream.::

::What if he goes after Hot Shot again?:: Air Raid asked.

::I've got an idea for that . . .:: Jetfire said, closing back in on Starscream. "Hey, Starscream! Seems to me like your flying's getting rusty!" he hollered at the grey jet. "Or were you trying to see how badly you could botch up your maneuver!?"

Starscream reverted to hover mode and spun around, firing at Jetfire the instant he was in sight. "Silence, Autobot!"

The Autobot smoothly executed a barrel roll to avoid the shots and fired back. "I merely speak the truth, _Screamer_. I don't see how it's my problem if you can't accept it!" he mocked, parroting the Decepticon's words from earlier.

Starscream immediately went back into boost mode, escaping the blasts by a small margin, then flew around to tail the air commander. "I said, _SILENCE_!" he shrieked, shooting at Jetfire from behind.

Jetfire felt some satisfaction at his plan working, though he could do without the laser fire narrowly missing him. He now had Starscream's full attention, and with any luck, Hot Shot would be long out of sight before his rage simmered down. ::Hot Shot, there's an entrance to the lower levels nearby the energon mill. Go there,:: he said shortly, more focused on staying alive than being especially eloquent.

::Will do, Comet One,:: Hot Shot responded. ::And thanks.::

* * *

Jazz followed behind the racer when Hot Shot suddenly changed course, heading for the old energon mill. ::Yo, Hot Shot, what's with the new route?:: he asked, nailing a following Decepticon with his rear cannons.

::Jetfire said there was an entrance to the underground around here. We clear in back?::

Jazz glanced behind them. Aside from that one 'Con he'd blasted, it seemed they'd lost their unwanted and excessively violent entourage, thanks mostly in part to the aerialbots. ::Mmmm . . . yeah. Looks like it,:: he finally answered, returning his attention to the velocitronian's far away taillights. ::The lower levels, huh? Risky, but I've been down there a few times.::

::We don't have to stay down there long.::

::Right, just until we're out of 'Con territory.::

::Yeah. Let me know if you see it, 'kay?::

Jazz laughed. ::'Kay. But you'll probably have already passed it when I do.::

Hot Shot snickered. ::True, true. But U-turns are a thing.::

::They ain't exactly fast, though,:: Jazz pointed out.

::You got me there. Oh! Wait, that's it up ahead, I think.::

Jazz pulled a bit to the side to look around Hot Shot. The sports car was heading for a large hole in the ground, likely made from a stray mine or missile, if the surrounding rubble was any indication. ::Looks like.::

::It _looks_ like a giant fragging _hole_ that's what it looks like,:: Hot Shot retorted, sounding somewhat unnerved. ::How am I supposed to get down there?::

If Jazz had been in his robot mode, he would have cast the younger mech a cheeky smirk. Hot Shot could probably hear it in his voice regardless. ::You drive into it, duh.::

Hot Shot squawked. ::Are you _insane_!? We're not aerials! We'll go smash at the bottom!::

::Aww, Hot Shot, are you scared?:: Jazz teased, unable to resist the opportunity. ::Seriously though, it's not as long a drop as you'd think. I think I remember this hole. We'll be fine.::

::. . . 'M not _scared,_ :: Hot Shot huffed, though the shake in his voice said otherwise. Still, he didn't change course. ::I'm just . . . intelligently wary. Yeah, intelli—::

::Comet Two here, what's your status?:: Silverbolt asked, his voice cutting off Hot Shot's weak defense.

::We're almost at the entrance Comet One mentioned,:: Hot Shot responded quickly.

::Speaking of Comet One, he usually does these check-ins,:: Jazz noted, wincing when he ran over an especially rough area. ::He—ow—he alright?::

::Yes, he's just very preoccupied with Starscream.::

Silverbolt's reply eased the worry in the back of Jazz's processor. ::Good to know.::

::Are _you_ okay Jazz? What's with the 'ow?'::

::Ah, just hit a rough patch of ground is all.::

::Isn't that _all_ of them, Jazz? My chassis is gonna hurt for _solar cycles,_ ugh,:: Hot Shot grumbled.

::That's what you get for being so aerodynamic, Speedy,:: Jazz laughed.

::Okay then. See you at the rendezvous,:: Silverbolt said, before signing off. ::Comet Two out.::

::Would it kill you to show some sympathy, Jazz?::

::Nah, it's just funnier to tease you,:: Jazz chuckled. Hot Shot was almost at the edge of the hole now. ::Now, remember to transform once you're over the edge, and roll when you hit the ground.::

::I know. Did that all the time in the races back home.::

::Okay then. See you at the bottom.::

Just moments after, Hot Shot disappeared into the opening on Cybertron's surface. To his credit, he hid his fear well. Now, to follow him down and back him up for the rest of the trip. He still couldn't believe his cover had been blown so quickly, but on the plus side, Jazz got to return to Iacon much sooner than expected.

* * *

Optimus Prime wasn't certain how long he had been talking to Ultra Magnus at this point, only that they had changed subjects about forty five times, which he only knew from hearing Prowl mutter it under his vents before leaving the room a megacycle or so ago. He didn't let Prowl's incredulity put a damper on his good mood, however, he knew that Prowl was hardly a conversationalist, and up until recently Prowl's own siblings had all been in Iacon as well. He'd understand Optimus's non-stop chatter better after they'd been separated for a while, even if he didn't get it completely.

Still, he had reports to read—ugh—if he wanted to avoid his third-in-command's ire, and Ultra Magnus likely had important things to attend to as well, so it was in his best interests to wrap things up. Avoiding Prowl's lectures was serious business. "Well, Magnus, as much as I hate to say it, I need to get going," he said reluctantly, pushing off from where he was leaning on his desk.

"I must agree, Optimus," Ultra Magnus sighed. He was sitting in a chair in front of the screen, which Optimus would have done himself if he wasn't so restless. "It was nice to talk to you again, it's been too long."

"I feel the same. Until next time."

"Magnus out."

With that, both mechs signed off. Optimus was in significantly higher spirits than he had been, but once he was left in silence, his thoughts immediately tried to betray him by bringing up _why_ he needed a distraction in the first place. "That didn't last long," he muttered, sitting down at his desk. He eyed the intimidating stack of data pads that loomed on one side with resignation, finally reaching slowly to grab the one on top, then switch it on. It was a status report from the ruins of Vos. Things sounded fairly stable there for the time being. The second report—from Nova Cronum—was much the same, as were the ones from Kutanzuule, Jan-Ja, Perihex, Polyhex, Protihex, Toraxxis, Praxium, and Nyon. By the time he reached the fifteenth data pad, he was convinced he could tell several bots that he was fine, and use different terminology each time. He hoped Prowl would let up on his lecture after this, because otherwise he might just die of boredom.

Before he could move on to any more reports, he was—blessedly—interrupted by Prowl himself, though the praxian's grim expression made it hard to feel happy about it for too long. "Sir," the tactician said shortly, a data pad clutched in his servo.

Optimus got to his pedes and regarded the shorter mech with trepidation. "Yes, Prowl? What's wrong?"

"Reports from the squadrons in Glibax and Carburisia," Prowl replied, not wasting any time. "It seems the Decepticons have been increasing their numbers in the northern edge of Hyperious."

"Shoring up their defenses, perhaps?" Optimus suggested, turning his attention to the monitor when Prowl brought up a map of Cybertron.

"Perhaps, or they could be planning a push into our territory," Prowl muttered, studying the display closely.

Optimus investigated the area around Hyperious himself. Harmonex, Carburisia, Glibax, Marcon, the Torque Flats, the Plurex Flats, Velocitron, Forza . . . wait . . . "Did they mention how long this has been going on? Hyperious is very close to Forza."

Prowl glanced down at his data pad to check his information. "Yes."

"How long?"

"Too long to be a counteroffensive against Jazz and Jetfire's team."

"I see." His optics returned to the screen. "Another possibility is that they've finally decided to move on Marcon."

"That could very well be." The data pad was set down on the control panel. "They have already sent word to the troops at Velocitron, as well as Ultra Magnus, so I am sure they already know of the situation."

Optimus frowned. "Magnus didn't mention anything, and a possible attack certainly sounds like something he'd tell me."

Prowl paused, his doorwings tilting in a confused fashion. "That is . . . odd. Landmine specifically mentioned that he contacted Marcon directly."

". . . If he did, he probably would have reached Perceptor," Optimus mused, recalling how the scientist had been the one operating Marcon's communications. "I suppose it's possible that the call was made while Magnus and I were talking."

"It is, with how long you were speaking with your brother there is a 54.6 percent chance that Landmine made the call during that time frame," Prowl stated.

The subtle jab at Optimus's long talk was not missed, but the Prime decided to let it slide as they had far more pressing matters to attend to. "And the remaining 45.4?"

Prowl's expression darkened. "Landmine never made the call, or the call was received by either a double agent . . ."

". . . Or a traitor," Optimus finished, his servo forming a fist.

The praxian merely nodded, then turned to face Optimus. "Regardless of which scenario is true, it would be prudent to make contact and clarify who knows what, as well as decide on our next course of action."

"Indeed," He agreed. "Teletraan-1, contact Marcon."

* * *

Time seemed to crawl in the lower levels of Cybertron, though to be fair, Hot Shot and Jazz _had_ been there for a long time. Thankfully, Jazz knew the area, and had said they were approaching the ruins of Crystal City. From there, they could hitch a ride on a transport shuttle the rest of the way to Iacon.

Hot Shot grimaced when an exposed pipe scraped across his undercarriage, adding to the already obscene amount of dents and scratches riddling his chassis. He was certain that he had a few open gashes and cuts, but it couldn't be helped. Had speed not been such a necessity on this mission, he knew that they never would have chosen him as the runner at all. Maybe someone like Outback or X-Brawn instead. "How much longer until we reach Crystal City?" he grumbled, wincing as he spoke. As they made more progress, Hot Shot had slowed enough for Jazz to catch up, thus negating the need for comms.

"Just a couple more cycles, then we can transform and climb the rubble to get out of here," Jazz replied. "From there it's just a short drive to the rendezvous point."

"Okay," he responded before hissing when something else assaulted his axle. "Good thing too, I don't know how much more punishment my frame can take."

"Heh, Ratchet's gonna throw a fit when he gets his servos on you."

"This isn't _my_ fault!" Hot Shot protested.

Jazz snickered. "I know, I know, but you know how he gets."

"Yeah, well, if he wants to beat someone for this damage, he should go see Prowl or Jetfire. Or you, for that matter."

"Guilty as charged."

"But you're not gonna tell him that, are you?"

"Nope."

"Slagger."

"Guilty on that front too."

Hot Shot huffed before noticing Jazz applying his brakes and drifting towards a large mound of rubble, a large opening to the surface at the top. "This the place?"

"Yup."

Upon reaching the pile, the pair transformed back into robot mode and began to climb. Hot Shot cursed under his vents when he slipped on a loose girder, his servo tightening around a thin pipe.

"Just wait right there and I'll throw you a line when I reach the top," Jazz called.

Hot Shot glanced up, spotting a cable in Jazz's servos. "Right. I forgot about that grappling hook of yours."

Jazz simply laughed and shot him a grin before continuing his climb, small clumps of scrap rolling down the mound in his wake. It wasn't long before the polyhexian finally pulled himself up over the edge, disappearing for a few moments to retract his cable and find something to keep himself from being pulled down by Hot Shot's weight. The cable was then flung over the side, landing just to the left of the velocitronian.

Grabbing the line, Hot Shot began to follow behind his comrade, his progress much slower than the more experienced climber.

"You really oughta go hiking more, Hot Shot!" Jazz shouted playfully, chuckling with amusement.

"C'mon, Jazz, you know I'm not built for the wilderness!" the racer shot back in good humor. As if to prove his point, the rubble he was standing on came loose, prompting him to clutch the cable in an iron grip or else fall back to the ground. "Eep! See?"

"You gotta test your pedeholds first before you put your weight on them. Try stomping on them gently," Jazz advised.

"Stomping gently?" Hot Shot inquired with a smirk.

"Eh, y'know what I mean."

" _Do_ I, Jazz?" he teased before doing as the saboteur instructed. "Are you sure that's the problem? I mean, you can't see me from . . . wherever it is you are up there." He patted a small outcropping with his pede, using just enough force to see if it was sturdy, then carefully eased himself over to step on it.

"I'm sure enough," Jazz responded. Hot Shot swore he heard a shrug in his tone. "It's a common oversight, I sometimes forget to do it myself when I'm in a hurry."

The two mechs were mostly quiet after that, aside from some further ribbing from Jazz, and after an embarrassingly long amount of time—which wasn't really as long as it felt—Hot Shot finally reached over the edge of the crevice, finding his servo snatched up by his friend. "Finally," he huffed, swinging a leg up over the side.

Jazz had his grappling hook arm wrapped around a chunk of steel that was embedded in the ground—likely from what used to be a wall—which luckily wasn't too far away from the hole to the lower levels. "I was starting to think you got lost!" he joked, giving Hot Shot's servo a solid yank to pull him up the rest of the way.

"Oh, ha, ha," Hot Shot said flatly, getting to his pedes. He brushed off some of the dust and grime that had accumulated on his frame while Jazz retracted his cable and transformed the launcher back into his servo. "Which way to the rendezvous point?"

Jazz folded back down into vehicle mode and pointed his front bumper behind Hot Shot. "That way. Shouldn't take too much longer."

Hot Shot wasted no time in following Jazz's lead, transforming into his sleek alt-mode and driving off in the direction indicated. "Then let's hurry, Optimus is waiting."

::Comet One, checking in. What's your status?::

Hot Shot started a bit when Jetfire's voice came over the comm, bumping Jazz with a huff when the black and white mech had the audacity to snicker. ::Comet Seven here, Glitch Mouse and I are almost to the rendezvous point. Also, Glitch Mouse is being a glitch. Over.::

"Hey!" Jazz retorted, bumping Hot Shot back.

Jetfire laughed. ::That's no surprise.::

::Slag you guys!::

::You all okay back there?:: Hot Shot asked. ::Silverbolt said you were taking on Starscream.::

::Overall, yeah. Lost a few good bots, but we made sure the 'Cons lost more. We've pulled out and are on our way to meet you there. ETA three cycles.::

::Gotcha,:: Jazz replied. ::See you there. And take care, don't need to lose anyone else this solar cycle.::

::Will do. Comet One out.::

* * *

Velocitron was the racing capital of Cybertron before the war, where anyone who wanted to see extraordinary speed planned to visit. It was also the only city besides Iacon and Kaon that remained mostly intact through stellar cycles of war. It was nothing compared to its former glory, but it was still recognizable, hospitable, and inhabited by many of the remaining neutral transformers who were too stubborn to flee their home world.

The majority of the neutral population still wanted to stay out of the bloody war that surrounded them, but there was a small number that considered picking a side. No one who considered joining the Decepticons would dare say so aloud due to the Autobot camp at the city, but those who thought of throwing their lot in with the Autobots didn't have things much better. Their peers would try to talk some sense into them, or look on them with disdain for giving up their principles. It was enough to make the resolves of many crumble under the pressure. Some, however, like one particular speed demon named Silverstreak, continued in their attempts to make their cohorts see reason.

Silverstreak raced down the straightaway as fast as his wheels could carry him, delighting in the way the air rushed over his plating. He, like most velocitronians, was at his happiest when zooming down the racetrack at top speed without a care in the world. _'But I_ do _have a care, don't I?'_ he thought to himself as he slowed near the end. He transformed into robot mode and stared at the wastelands to the south, his expression one of trepidation. While the Autobots made a valiant effort to keep things on the down low, he had overheard a conversation between two off-duty soldiers about news of an increased Decepticon presence in Hyperious, and he couldn't help but speculate on why they were there at all. He supposed it might have something to do with the Autobot stronghold to the west in Marcon, but he had a nagging feeling that wasn't the case.

The sound of another high-performance engine caught his attention and dragged him out of his hopeless musings, along with the glint of light reflecting off of polished silver plating. "Hey, Comet," he greeted, casting the other mech a strained smile.

"Hey, little brother," Comet replied, coming to a stop beside him. The sound of shifting gears permeated the air as he transformed, taking a moment to stretch his limbs. "What are you doing brooding all the way out here?"

Silverstreak sputtered. "Wha—I am not brooding!"

"You are so. You have that _look_ on your face, the one that says you're _thinking_ too much," Comet retorted, flicking him in the shoulder with his digits.

Silverstreak batted the servo away and glared halfsparkedly. "Yeah, well, there's a lot to think about."

The older mech raised an optic ridge. "Like what?"

Silverstreak's optics returned to the southern horizon, his denta biting down on his lower lip as he considered. ". . . Like the war," he hazarded, eyeing his brother's expression.

An expression which soured immediately. "Oh. That." Silverstreak knew he'd react poorly. "Hopefully one side will finally wipe out the other so we can go back to living our lives _without_ the threat of bombs getting dropped on our heads," he grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring in the direction of the Autobot camp.

Silverstreak arched an optic ridge of his own. "You mean: hopefully the _Autobots_ will wipe out the _Decepticons_ , right?"

Comet rolled his optics. "Autobots, Decepticons, what's the difference? This war is the fault of them both."

Silverstreak opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it at the last moment, ducking his head to stare at the ground. He never knew what to say to his brother when he got like this. Instead . . . ". . . You do realize that by saying that, you're sort of saying that Lockcharger should go offline," he muttered quietly.

"I . . . you know that's not what I mean," Comet argued weakly, his arms falling to his sides.

Silverstreak looked up. "And what about me? You know what else I've been thinking about, I know I told you. Would you still be happy with a Decepticon victory if they had to wipe _me_ out with the rest of the Autobots?"

"Silverstreak . . ."

"What's the difference, right? Even if I'm just trying to do what I can to help end this bloodbath, I'm just adding to the problem."

"You don't get it!" Comet snapped, whirling about to face him. "It's not continuing the fight that's the problem; it's the fact that this could have been avoided in the beginning! If the Autobots had just let Megatron do what he wanted—as violent as it was—we wouldn't be in this mess! It would have been over by now! Quit being such a naive little—" His fists clenched when he cut himself off with an angry growl, turning his back on the younger velocitronian. ". . . You didn't grow up with it. You didn't watch Cybertron getting torn apart by two armies too blind to see what they were doing; it was already in ruins when your long-term memory came online," he said softly, sounding a bit tired. "You're just . . . too young."

Silverstreak stared at his brother. It was true, he was still young and—some could argue—a bit dumb when it came to certain things, having been sparked during the early stellar cycles of the war, before it spread so far. Still, his age didn't change facts. He knew what Lockcharger had told him, and he knew what the Autobots stood for. ". . . So . . . why not pick a side _now_ and help to end the fight? It's a stalemate out there last I heard, and whether you want to see it or not they're _not_ the same. You remember Praxus, don't you? I don't want the side responsible for that act of genocide to win," he tried to reason, stepping a bit closer to his brother.

Comet shook his head. "You don't get it . . ." he muttered, repeating his earlier words, though he sounded more exhausted than angry this time. ". . . I'm going back home. I'll see you later, Silverstreak."

Silverstreak could only watch the other velocitronian transform and speed away, wishing he could get Comet to understand. Perhaps though, Comet was wishing the same of him.

* * *

The mood in the conference room was terribly grim, each face bearing a frown as dark as the sunless sky. Marcon had not, evidently, received Landmine's transmission about the Decepticon movements in Hyperious, which was most distressing, especially when an investigation into the matter revealed that Landmine had made the call. Commanders from Glibax, Harmonex, and Carburisia, as well as the Squadron leader in Velocitron and Ultra Magnus, had all joined Optimus Prime and Prowl to determine Megatron's plan, and discuss a plan to flush out the leak.

Their discussion was interrupted, however, when the door bleeped in response to a code, sliding open to reveal Optimus's other TIC: Jazz, whose shuttle had just arrived from Crystal City. "Jazz, you've returned!" Optimus greeted before noticing another figure coming in behind the saboteur. "And Jetfire, welcome back!" What he really wanted to do was run over and give the both of them an enthusiastic (smothering) hug, but Prowl seemed to sense this and gave him a _look_ that clearly displayed his feelings regarding the idea. 'You can maul them later,' he seemed to say.

Jazz grinned back at the bots both in the room, and on the view screen. "Hey Prime, Prowler, everyone else that I don't have time to name right now."

"That is not my designation," Prowl grumbled, glaring at Jazz.

"Eh, don't get your circuits in a twist." The other black and white mech had weld marks on his frame in various places—as did the air commander, in fact Jetfire looked worse—all from the repairs done by the medics in Crystal City, but he still seemed to be in overall good spirits. Optimus knew Jazz well enough though, to see the underlying sadness in his friend's spark. He felt it too. Jazz only got this way when Autobot lives were lost. "Anyway, we've got something for you, Prime," Jazz continued, strolling over to Optimus's side.

"Really?" Optimus asked with amusement, holding out a servo. "I wonder what it is."

A small data chip was deposited in the waiting servo as Jetfire approached. "Probably what you've been waiting for the last few solar cycles," the seeker said, crossing his arms.

"Perhaps whatever information is on the chip will clue us in to what Megatron is planning," Ultra Magnus mused, bringing a servo up to his chin.

"We can hope," Optimus responded. Taking the chip over to Teletraan-1, he searched out a port to insert the chip into and stared at the display. Encrypted, as he expected, but not for long.

"Well, now that you've got the chip, I'm gonna go and get some rest. Ratchet's orders," Jazz announced, giving a playful salute to the other bots.

"I'd better go too," Jetfire muttered. "Just wanted to say hello before I did. You sure you can decrypt that thing, Optimus?"

Jazz pat the larger mech on the arm. "Don't worry about it, Jetfire, you don't work at the Hall of Records your whole life without learning a thing or two." He sent Optimus a smile then tugged Jetfire out of the room. "Now c'mon, before Ratchet yells at us. He's already angry about the damage done to Hot Shot's undercarriage."

"Yeah, yeah. Later bots!" the seeker called before the door hissed shut behind them.

Optimus focused on the task at servo, first running the files contained in the chip through a decryption program, then picking away at the pieces that remained. At his urging, Prowl and the other bots continued their discussion, the rumbling of many different voices providing a backdrop of continuous sound as the Prime worked. It never ceased to please him that his past experience as a data clerk enabled him to help with decryption and encryption, easing the load on his Autobots' shoulders.

He wasn't certain how long he had been working when the last layer of encryption fell away, but he wasn't worried about any decisions that may have been made when he was only half paying attention. He trusted his commanders; he wouldn't have given them the positions if he didn't. "I've got it," he stated as he opened the file without another thought, displaying it on the view screen beside the map.

What he saw made his spark sink.

"Primus . . ." Ultra Magnus vented, his optics widening in horror.

Project Trypticon, it was called. Optimus knew—thanks to Jetfire, who used to work there—what sort of research the scientists of Trypticon Station were conducting, as well as the fact that Megatron had taken the station over in the early cycles of the war. What he had never managed to figure out, was what Megatron wanted with it.

". . . That's . . . dark energon," one of the commanders from Glibax—Gearback—said darkly.

". . . Yes, it is," Optimus agreed. "And he plans on infecting the very core of the planet with it."

Another commander—named Widecrusher—cried out in outrage. "Is he _insane_!? He'll kill us all!"

"Indeed. Dark energon is too unstable, who knows what it could do?" Ultra Magnus added.

"What if it causes the energon veins to become infected as well?" Flashhammer—the squad leader at Velocitron—wondered aloud, concern evident in his tone.

Prowl narrowed his optics at the screen. ". . . There _is_ a path to the core in Hyperious. Perhaps he is only now executing his plan," he suggested. "Of course, this is merely conjecture."

"Perhaps," Optimus murmured. "We need to remain calm. If Prowl's theory is correct, then we still have time. There's a path to the core at the border of Little Iacon as well. If we hurry, we might be able to stop this."

"Optimus is right. We have to stay calm," Gearback said, taking a deep vent.

"Prowl, go inform Ironhide of the situation and form a small unit to go with me to Little Iacon."

"You shall be going as well, Optimus?" Prowl inquired, looking at his leader.

"Yes, I shall," Optimus affirmed with a nod. "If they are, in fact, executing this plan, Megatron would not simply leave it to a mere soldier."

"He would go himself," Flashhammer continued, seeing where Optimus was going.

"And if there's a chance that Megatron will be there, then I will be there as well." The Prime crossed his arms and looked at the map, staring directly at Kaon, the Decepticon capital. ". . . Maybe he'll listen to reason this time," he added quietly.

Widecrusher scoffed. "Megatron? See reason?"

"Prime, you can't seriously think he'd listen to anything you say," Gearback agreed.

Optimus sighed. "Megatron is stubborn and violent, and his morals may be very skewed, but he's not insane. If he's going to inject dark energon into the core, then he has a specific goal in mind, and it's not to kill us all. However, I will concede that—given the grudge he still harbors against me—he is not likely to listen. Though it will not stop me from hoping."

"I shall . . . endeavor to hope as well, sir. For all of our sakes," Prowl stated, picking up his previously-forgotten data pad and turning to leave the room, a servo moving up to activate his comm. Likely to contact Ironhide.

As the door hissed open and shut behind the praxian, Optimus directed his attention at his brother. "Magnus, what did you all decide to do about Hyperious?"

"Ah, yes, the plan was to send in a few bots from Carburisia to gather intelligence."

"I see. Continue with the plan. If this 'Project Trypticon' doesn't have anything to do with the recent goings-on over there, I want to know what does."

"Understood."

* * *

Sideswipe was confused. No, wait, confused was too mild a term. Perplexed? Bewildered? Ah, yes, bewildered. Sideswipe was bewildered. He had not stopped wondering what he had done to upset Red Alert since it had happened, and it was driving him nuts. He had literally just introduced himself. Bluestreak had said he was friends with Prowl though, maybe the tactician had warned him about him? _'Nah, that wouldn't make him hate me. I mean, Prowl doesn't hate me . . . at least . . . I don't_ think _he does.'_ He sighed and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in a fashion that disguised his inner frustration. He knew that not every bot was going to like him—sadly—but he'd prefer if they'd give him a chance to do more than say hello first.

"Cheer up, Sides, maybe he just remembered something that upset him. Prowl says he tends to get huffy about things a lot," Bluestreak reassured, patting Sideswipe on the shoulder.

::Hey, Sideswipe.::

He jumped when the rough, gravelly voice came through his comms, smiling a bit unconvincingly when some passing Autobots gave him a few amused looks. ::Eh? I mean . . . yes, Ironhide, sir?:: Bluestreak snickered quietly beside him, prompting him to give the praxian a playful swat on the arm.

::I need ya down in conference room seven. Got a mission,:: Ironhide continued, paying Sideswipe's word stumbling little mind, as usual.

::Yes, sir, be right there,:: Sideswipe replied before signing off. "Hey, Blue, you mind telling me how to get to conference room seven?"

"Sure! I mean, no. Yes? I don't mind." The shorter mech snatched up Sideswipe's arm and began pulling him down the hall. "C'mon, I'll just show you."

Sideswipe quickly shoved off the wall and moved to follow before Bluestreak wound up having to drag him along. As funny as the sight would be, given Sideswipe's superior strength, it wouldn't do to keep Ironhide waiting.

Bluestreak led the way down several hallways which all seemed to say: 'Sideswipe, you're going to get lost the moment you're left alone.' Regardless of his inevitable fate, he had a guide at present, so disaster was averted. For the time being.

"So, who wants you over there?" Bluestreak asked over his shoulder.

"Ironhide. Said he had a mission," he replied quickly, trying to keep track of the turns they were making. "He might have called Sunny too."

"A mission? Did he say what kind of mission?"

"No, but if he wants a frontliner like me then I can take a guess," Sideswipe answered with a shrug.

They eventually reached the conference room sooner than he expected, but he was still feeling a bit turned around. He doubted he'd be able to find his way back. After waving goodbye to Bluestreak, he keyed the door open and stepped inside. A few of the chairs were occupied, but they were mostly empty.

"There you are, Sideswipe," a familiar, monotonous voice drawled, drawing Sideswipe's optics to a very recognizable black and white mech sitting in one of the chairs.

"Hey, Prowl, sir. Long time no see!" he greeted cheerfully.

The TIC merely stared back at him with an unreadable expression. As usual. "Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing at the other chairs.

Spotting Sunstreaker sitting a couple chairs away from Ironhide, he immediately plopped down in the chair beside his brother's. Also seated was a red aerial that Sideswipe didn't recognize.

"So, we gonna start now?" the aerial asked somewhat impatiently.

"Cool yer jets, Powerglide, we're still waitin' on Warpath and a couple others," Ironhide grumbled. Clearly that wasn't the first time this 'Powerglide' had asked that question.

Warpath wasn't a designation Sideswipe recognized either, but that was to be expected, given that he was new to the base and had never been to Iacon before.

"Warpath's so slow . . ." Powerglide muttered, resting his head in his servo.

"I am sure we shall hear him coming," Prowl stated absent-mindedly, his attention mostly focused on a small, holographic display.

Sideswipe was curious. "Hear him? Why?" Before anyone could answer him, however, he was distracted by a loud, unholy thundering coming from the hallway. ". . . What's that noise?"

"Warpath," the three mechs he wasn't related to replied blandly, looking either bored, or impassive.

A couple nanokliks later, the door hissed open to admit a very large, intimidating, red tank. "BLAM! Warpath has arrived on the _scene_!" he announced in an excessively loud voice.

Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge at the new arrival around the same time that Prowl raised his head. "Warpath, we have been over this. No traversing the halls in vehicular mode," the praxian admonished, looking on the tank with a disapproving stare.

"I just wanted to make an _entrance,_ " Warpath said in a flippant manner, transforming back into robot mode. He was a lot taller and bulkier than the other ground frames in the room, but it wasn't enough to make Powerglide any less gigantic. "Hey! New guys!" he exclaimed, stepping behind the brothers and placing a servo on each of their shoulders. "Name's Warpath, but you probably got that from Prowl."

Sunstreaker glared at the servo popping his personal bubble. "Don't touch me," he grumbled softly, crossing his arms.

Warpath, thankfully, seemed to have some sense and pulled away from the golden yellow mech, a mildly satisfied expression appearing on Sunstreaker's face. "Ah, like your personal space, huh? No biggie." He moved his attention to Sideswipe. "What about you, little mech?"

"That's not something I'm used to being called," Sideswipe laughed, looking up at the larger transformer. "No personal bubbles here. Name's Sideswipe, and the grump over there is my brother, Sunstreaker."

The 'grump' gave him an aggravated look as Warpath grinned. At least, Sideswipe thought he was grinning. It was hard to tell with the mouthplate, but there was a twinkle in his optics that usually came with a grin. "Brothers, huh? Well, nice to meet you!"

Sideswipe smiled back. "Nice to meet you too." He liked this guy. Finally, someone new who didn't hate him within thirty nanokliks.

The sound of clearing vents caught his attention, as well as Warpath's, drawing their gazes back to the TIC. "If your introductions are complete, would you kindly sit down, Warpath?" he requested calmly, gesturing at the chairs.

"Yeah, sure, fine," Warpath said with a roll of his optics. He pull out the chair beside Sideswipe and spun it around on one leg, sitting down on it backwards with the back facing the table.

Sideswipe leaned forward on the table. "So, who else are we waiting for?"

Ironhide looked over. "A shuttle named Skyfire, and—"

The sound of the door interrupted the weapons specialist, revea— _holy Primus_. Sideswipe's optics widened. Optimus Prime. That was Optimus Prime. Standing. In the doorway. Oh, wait, he was walking inside.

"—and him," Ironhide finished, waving a servo at the Prime.

Wait, he was going on this mission too? Sideswipe felt like he was going to explode with excitement. He was going on a mission with _Optimus Prime_. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was so _excited_ he was _ecstatic_ he was—

 _*KLUNK!*_

—he was in pain. Only one bot knew where to kick him to get his attention without damaging his leg, or moving. He grimaced on the inside with a smile plastered on his face, desperately trying to suffer in silence as he slowly turned his head to look at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker stared right back for a nanoklik, then leaned in. "You were staring," he whispered before leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms again.

Sideswipe could feel his face growing hot. Primus, Sunstreaker was right. He hoped Optimus Prime hadn't noticed the staring, and for that matter, he hoped he wouldn't notice the blue tint that was undoubtedly forming on his face. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see Ironhide trying not to laugh and Prowl practically staring into his soul. They knew about his hopeless admiration of Optimus Prime, and had probably guessed what had happened under the table. Everyone else, however . . .

". . . What was that noise?" Optimus wondered aloud, giving the table a weird look.

"Sounds like someone just got kicked in the shin," Warpath snickered, resting his head on a servo.

Ironhide was shaking with suppressed laughter now.

"Wasn't me," Powerglide stated with a shrug.

"That is not important right now," Prowl interjected, coming to Sideswipe's rescue.

"Yes, more important things to worry about," Optimus said, shaking his head. "First of all, Skyfire, quit lurking outside the door and get in here."

Sideswipe glanced behind Optimus and saw a very large figure standing behind him, still outside in the hall. He couldn't see the mech's face though, he was too tall.

"Um . . . I would, Optimus, but . . . you're blocking the doorway," a calm voice replied.

"The mech's right, Prime," Ironhide said, his earlier mirth from Sideswipe's suffering evident in his tone.

Optimus was quiet for a moment, slowly turning his head to look at the door before sliding out of the way. ". . . _Now_ stop lurking in the doorway."

Skyfire ducked into the room and shut the door behind him, inching over to the wall to sit there. Suddenly, Powerglide was no longer the tallest bot in the room. Even the largest chairs were too small for the white shuttle. "I'll just . . . sit here."

"That is perfectly acceptable, Skyfire," Prowl muttered, a bit distracted by his data pad.

"Secondly," Optimus continued, turning his attention to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, "I don't know your names. I am Optimus Prime."

He was looking at him. He was _talking_ to him.

"Sunstreaker," his brother answered.

Sideswipe was currently relapsing back to his awestruck staring and speechlessness. He opened his mouth to answer, but didn't realize nothing was coming out until Sunstreaker gave him a solid thwack on the arm. "Fidewhite!" What. That wasn't his name.

Sunstreaker sighed, resting his face in his servo.

"Wait, no, that's not—I-I mean . . . Sidesmite!" That wasn't right either. _'Noooo, whyyyy!?'_ "That is . . . I . . . My . . . name is Sideswipe . . ." He didn't really care about the pain when his face decided to become well acquainted with the tabletop. He could hear Ironhide's short guffaw as well as some other laughter, but he wasn't sure who the guilty parties were. A low, rumbling chuckle reached his audios soon after, originating from behind him, as a servo patted his shoulder.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sideswipe, and you as well, Sunstreaker," the voice said.

Oh. So it was Optimus Prime. He should have guessed from how deep it was. Ironhide was still laughing—though there was a clanging noise that sounded suspiciously like when Sunstreaker had kicked him coming from that direction—but he still managed to peel his burning face off of the table's surface and give the Prime an incredibly embarrassed smile. "Heh . . . you too, sir."

"Please, call me Optimus. Or Prime, I guess, that works too. 'Sir' just sounds so formal. Prowl gets away with it because I can't get him to stop," Optimus said with a glint of amusement in his optics. "Now," he continued, his tone turning more serious, "to get to the problem at servo." He stepped around the table to take a seat beside Prowl, scooting in to rest his elbows on the tabletop. "You've all been called here because I asked Prowl and Ironhide to form me a strike team, and they decided that you were the mechs best suited for this mission. As a couple of you may know, a small unit was sent to infiltrate the Decepticon base at Forza to gather intelligence on an operation they've been planning for . . . I'm not sure how long. What we got was this data chip,"—he held up a tiny chip—"containing information on a 'Project Trypticon.' Prowl, if you would?"

Prowl accepted the chip when it was offered to him and plugged it into his data pad, pressing a few buttons and firing up the holographic display to allow the gathered Autobots to view the chip's stored information.

Sideswipe's optics widened in shock. Dark energon? He thought that was a myth.

It seemed the other mechs thought the same. "Dark energon?" Powerglide vented fearfully.

Prowl nodded. "Yes. Dark energon."

Optimus clasped his servos together. "The Decepticons' plan is to infect the core with it."

Sideswipe suddenly felt sick. If the stories about dark energon were true then that would be disastrous. Not only for the Autobots, but for the Decepticons themselves. What was it that Megatron hoped to accomplish? Planetary genocide?

"What kind of plan is that? An 'If I can't win this war, no one can!' kind of plan?" Warpath exclaimed, voicing Sideswipe's own thoughts.

"I can't claim to know _what_ Megatron is trying to accomplish, but what we _do_ know is that Decepticons are assembling en masse in Hyperious, and there is a path to the core in that area. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume he's about to execute this plan," Optimus's expression turned grim. "And if he is, we _cannot_ allow this to happen."

The holographic display switched to a map of the planet. "Our plan is to take a different route to the core, starting from the border of Iacon, and Little Iacon," Prowl continued, ordering the display to zoom in on the indicated location. "For the purpose of keeping attention away from the area, this strike team is small. Megatron's own team—should he be doing as we suspect—is likely to be small as well."

"It is possible that we won't run into any Decepticons at all, but regardless, we need to know the status of the core, and if we should focus on other explanations for the sudden activity in Hyperious," Optimus finished. "Skyfire will fly us in, and keep us updated on the surface situation."

"Um . . . will I be alone out there?" Skyfire inquired from his corner, looking rather concerned about the idea.

"No," Prowl replied before gesturing at Sunstreaker. "Sunstreaker will stay with you as back-up should it be required. However, as Little Iacon is well within our territory, I would not worry too much about the possibility. The odds of such a thing—while not nonexistent—are very slim."

Skyfire seemed to relax after that. Sideswipe hoped he didn't expect any conversation from his brother, because if he did, he would be severely disappointed.

"The rest of you will go with me to the core," Optimus said, taking over for Prowl.

"Is Prowl not coming with?" Powerglide asked.

"No, I'm leaving him in charge back here should new information arrive from Carburisia about Hyperious," the Prime answered. "Now, any questions?"

"Yeah, actually," Warpath piped up again, pointing at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "What are their positions?"

"They're frontliners," Ironhide responded. "Good ones too."

"Aw, yeah! Company up in the 'Cons' grills! KABLAM!" Warpath cheered.

Sideswipe couldn't help a little snicker. One couldn't accuse Warpath of not being enthusiastic, it seemed.

"Anyone else?" Optimus asked. When no one spoke up, he pushed away from the table and got to his pedes. "Alright then. Make any preparations you need and meet me at the hangar in within the megacycle."

* * *

Optimus quietly returned his blaster to subspace upon completion of a third, entirely unnecessary (but not ridiculous) inspection; then moved his attention to his troops. It was mostly quiet within Skyfire's cargo hold as the shuttle left Iacon for its small neighbor, the majority of its inhabitants still in a dour mood from the mission briefing over a megacycle ago. Those that weren't, instead feeling optimistic about the situation and their ability to neutralize it, simply let them be.

Ironhide was beside the Prime, sharpening his blades (he wasn't _that_ close to Optimus, after all) and paying little mind to what everyone else was doing. To the untrained observer, it likely appeared as though Ironhide was relaxed. However, stellar cycles of friendship with the commander made Optimus no mere untrained observer. Ironhide was just as worried about all the ways things could go sour as he was.

Powerglide was flying alongside Skyfire rather than riding along with the others, due in large part to his status as an aerialbot and thus his own flight capabilities. It was just as well, he wouldn't have fit anyway. Probably would have flattened them all even if he did.

Warpath was inspecting his (massive) personal stores of weaponry, ensuring everything was in tip-top condition. He said he did this before leaving, but he needed something to occupy himself with.

One of the new bots, Sunstreaker, was following Ironhide's lead in sharpening his own blades, but he likely got a head start on ignoring everybody else in the hold. He hadn't said a word to anyone since they'd left, aside from giving the shortest possible answer to any questions directed his way. Optimus was getting the impression that he was the quiet sort, like Prowl.

Then there was the other new mech, Sideswipe, who had transformed his arm into a neutron assault rifle to perform his own inspection. Optimus chuckled a bit, looking off into space when the sound caused the other bots stare at him. Sideswipe was far from the first bot to view him as some sort of hero figure and trip over his words around him, and he doubted he'd be the last. It came with the position, he supposed.

He finally slid his gaze back to the frontliner once everyone had stopped staring at him, spotting Sideswipe whispering something to Sunstreaker which earned him a smack on the arm and an irritated reply, then return his attention to his gun arm with a pout, muttering something back. Whatever it was, Sunstreaker ignored it. He learned from Ironhide—who'd been at the same base as the pair a while back—after the briefing that the two were brothers, which made him feel an odd sort of relation to the exchange. He recalled numerous conversations between himself and Ultra Magnus when they were younger that played out similarly.

"Attention everyone, we're about four cycles out from our destination, so we should be landing shortly," Skyfire said, snapping everyone out of their mindless tasks.

"Thanks for the update, Skyfire," Optimus replied, patting the wall. "Is everyone ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be, Prime," Ironhide said, transforming his blades back into his arms. "Ya think I've got enough time to look over my guns . . ? Eh, might as well." One of the aforementioned guns—Optimus was sure Ironhide had named them all, but he couldn't remember which ones had which names—was extracted from the commander's subspace, and subjected to an Ironhide-level inspection. At least Optimus knew none of his friend's guns would be malfunctioning.

Within the given time frame, Skyfire announced their arrival at the path to the core. The landing was smooth, and while the cargo hold was hardly cramped, everyone was eager to get outside and stretch their legs. Once everybody had disembarked, Skyfire transformed back into robot mode and stretched, giving the arched entrance to the tunnels a wary look. "I have to admit, Optimus, I'm glad that I'm not going down there."

Powerglide laughed as he reverted back to his own robot mode. "What's the matter, Skyfire? You claustrophobic?"

"Yes, actually, and being as large as I am only makes it worse."

The red aerial snorted. "Well, _I'm_ not."

"Congratulations then, you're part of the 22 percent of aerials that isn't." Skyfire actually did sound a bit congratulatory, despite Powerglide's obnoxious tone.

However, there were more important matters. It seemed there were always more important matters. Optimus signed onto the mission comm channel to report their progress. ::Attention, Head Lilleth, we've arrived at the oil vat, over.:: Of course, they weren't _actually_ at an oil vat, but any possible eavesdroppers didn't need to know that.

:: _Why_ do you always insist on assigning code names on the fly?:: Prowl asked blandly, an exasperated note to his words.

Optimus grinned, not that Prowl could see it. ::It's more fun that way. Also, I wouldn't get to call you 'Head Lilleth' otherwise.::

::It is good to hear you have arrived,:: Prowl continued, valiantly ignoring Optimus's teasing. ::I shall look forward to hearing of your safe return. Over.::

::Over,:: Optimus said, signing off. "Alright, Skyfire, Sunstreaker, find a spot you like and wait there. Everyone else, let's get going." Out of the corner of his optic, Optimus noticed Sideswipe sneaking over to give his brother a quick hug. Sunstreaker grew a little stiff for a moment before patting Sideswipe's arm and wriggling out of his grip, walking off on an old path in the direction of a few crumbled buildings.

"Alright, Optimus. Take care down there," Skyfire said before following Sunstreaker down the path.

"And you up here," Optimus said back, leading his team over to the archway and heading inside. Warpath and Ironhide began discussing the best ways to 'bust Deceptichops' with Sideswipe off to the side, while Powerglide seemed to be having an invigorating discussion with himself over who-knows-what. Optimus was pondering what to do with himself—as thinking and rethinking the situation would only drive him insane—when he spotted Sideswipe donning a somewhat disturbed expression, casually stepping away from the other two frontline warriors. They must have gotten rather detailed in their descriptions. With an impish twinkle in his optics, Optimus sauntered over to the smallest of the group and matched his pace. "Things get too morbid for you?" he asked with amusement.

Sideswipe jumped and stared up at him with comically wide optics, just barely managing a quiet, "Uh-huh."

Optimus supposed it would be a while yet before Sideswipe would master the art of speaking in his presence. "They tend to do that. They're bad enough on their own, but put them together?" He let out a long vent, waving a servo in the air.

Sideswipe chuckled, but there was still an underlying sense of nervousness from the smaller bot. "I've uh, definitely gotten the Ironhide version before," he said with a lopsided smile before looking down at the ground. "It usually isn't that bad, it's the details that get me."

Optimus gave him a curious look at that. "Squeamish?"

Sideswipe grimaced. ". . . Yeah, a little."

That brought a sympathetic smile to his face, though he wasn't sure if Sideswipe could see it at all, what with his mouthplate in the way. Maybe if he was good at reading optics. He leaned in a bit sneakily—or maybe not, he _was_ about Warpath's size, after all—and whispered, "So am I. Don't tell Warpath."

Sideswipe's gaze darted back to his face. "Really?"

He gave the other mech a wink. "Really. Ironhide found me out in less than a megacycle."

The frontliner snickered again. Good, it seemed he was starting to loosen up a bit. "With the way he talks, that's no surprise."

Optimus laughed as well. "Indeed. Those of us who would rather _not_ know what the inside of a Decepticon looks like don't stand a chance." He looked down at the smaller mech, the larky glint to his optics making an encore appearance. "By the way . . . I _saw_ you, before we came in here."

Sideswipe blinked. "Huh?"

He shouldn't tease, he shouldn't . . . but he couldn't help himself. "I _know_ what you did."

"W-what I did? I don't—w-what do you mean?"

Okay, Sideswipe was getting worried, time to wrap this up. "How interesting, I didn't think one of my own Autobots would be a serial hugger." Oh, it was a struggle to stifle his mirth.

Sideswipe blinked again. "Serial hug—?" Just like that, his worried expression evaporated. "Oh. Heh, I guess you could call me that. So, you mean you saw me hug Sunny, right?"

"Sunny?" Optimus prompted. He knew it was likely a nickname of sorts for Sunstreaker, he'd called Ultra Magnus 'Maggie,' for a while himself—much to his brother's displeasure—but it was more fun to feign ignorance.

"Err, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe clarified, as Optimus had suspected. "Don't call him that though, I'm just the only one who doesn't get hit for it."

"I see, brotherly nicknaming privileges," Optimus stated, as if he hadn't known from the beginning. "I have those with Ultra Magnus."

Sideswipe looked a bit surprised. "You and Ultra Magnus are brothers? I didn't know that."

"We are, but it doesn't come up often," Optimus chuckled. "Though if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he was secretly trying to disown me."

"I know how that is. Sunny _does_ try to disown me sometimes, but I don't think he'd actually go through with it if he had the chance," the other mech said with amusement. "It's usually when I'm being especially weird."

"He didn't seem too keen on hugging you back. Reminds me of Magnus."

"Yeaaaah, Sunny's not really a hugger. He tolerates it because it makes me feel better."

"Same with Magnus," Optimus muttered. "That reminds me, I still owe both Jazz and Jetfire a hug."

"Jazz? I know Jazz. I've only _heard_ of Jetfire though. He's the air commander, right? Why do you owe them hugs?"

"Oh, they led the operation in Forza. I owe them their obligatory 'concerned friend is happy you're back' hugs," Optimus answered. "How do you know Jazz?"

"He was at a camp with Prowl in Protihex when Sunny and I were still neutral, he's the one who introduced me to Bluestreak. He was there because where Prowl goes . . ."

"Bluestreak goes," Optimus finished. "Now that I think about it, I seem to remember him mentioning you a few times. Are you two close?"

Sideswipe nodded. "Yeah. We're good friends. I'm not sure how much Prowl likes me though, I think I irritate him."

" _I_ irritate Prowl, at times. It's not a difficult task," Optimus laughed, briefly glancing back to check their progress. He couldn't see the archway anymore. "All you have to do is avoid paperwork."

Sideswipe grew quiet for a few nanokliks, his demeanor growing nervous again. "Um . . . is it . . . Do you know . . . Is it that easy to irritate Red Alert too?"

Optimus raised an optic ridge. "Red Alert? Hmmm, I can't say he and I are terribly close. Doesn't let many bots in, that one. I _can_ say that he _does_ get irritated rather quickly, and he's more vocal about it than Prowl. Why?"

"Well, he was the one who met my squadron when we got to Iacon. I go to introduce myself, and after I ask his name, he acts all offended and storms off, and now I think he hates me. I swear he glared at me before he left." Sideswipe seemed to be an odd mixture of frustrated, nervous, and confused. "I've been trying to figure out what I did wrong all solar cycle. The weirdest thing is he seemed mad at Sunny too, and Sunny didn't say _anything_ to him."

Optimus tilted his head, running that through his processor. ". . . That's . . . unusual," he finally said, tapping his chin.

"That's pretty much what Bluestreak said," Sideswipe said with a sigh. "Oh well, I guess I'll have plenty of time to figure it out."

". . . Might I suggest asking him directly?" Optimus tried. He didn't like the idea of a rift between any of his Autobots, and so long as there was a chance of success, he wanted to help where he could. "He's usually quite willing to elaborate at length on what's bothering him, and by that I mean he likes to rant the audios off of those who offend him. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule."

". . . And if he _does_ rant at me, he'll tell me what I did?" Sideswipe asked, looking up at Optimus with a hopeful expression.

"That's what usually happens," Optimus replied with a nod.

"That works for me," the smaller mech said with a smile. "I mean, I didn't _mean_ to offend him."

The Prime chuckled. "Of course you didn't. If you did, you'd already know what upset him."

That comment brought some sheepish laughter from the frontliner. "Heh, I would, wouldn't I?"

"Also, something Inferno told me—he's Red Alert's closest friend, so he should be considered an authority on the subject—Red Alert, when upset by something, internalizes it at first, coming off as grumpy. Sooner or later though, he has to vent about it or he'll go nuts. He caught him ranting to _himself_ once," Optimus continued, recalling Inferno's advice. "You're far from the first bot to have angered him accidentally, though you may have set a new record for how quickly you did so."

Sideswipe ducked his head. "Probably. Thanks for the advice, you speaking from experience, si—err, Optimus?"

Optimus cleared his intake in an exaggerated fashion. ". . . Yes. He was not a fan of how . . . overly trusting I was of supposed neutrals. Prowl actually seconded his thoughts. After some negotiation, we decided he would be suspicious _for_ me, and I'd be a little more cautious."

The other mech gave a sympathetic wince. "Sunny's given me that lecture before. Granted, it was less of a lecture and more of a grumbled couple of sentences plus a smack on the arm, but the message was the same. Stranger danger. I'm . . . not very good at remembering," he admitted.

"I can definitely relate," Optimus snickered.

Before he could say anything more, however, they came to a crossroads in the tunnel. "Which way, Prime?" Ironhide asked, crossing his arms.

"Left," Optimus replied, stepping over to take point. This was only the first of many diverging paths they'd need to take in order to reach the core in good time, and they still had a long way to go. He hoped they could make it before any damage was done.

* * *

Twenty thousand hics. That was _way_ too far below the surface as far as Skywarp was concerned. Still, orders were orders, and Megatron was very clear. He was to stay down here, at the core, with all these other Decepticons who were most definitely _not_ top-tier soldiers, until he was told otherwise. He didn't know _why_ but obviously there was a reason if Megatron had planned it, and if there was one thing Skywarp _didn't_ do, it was disobey Megatron's orders.

Still, this left him, a (claustrophobic) seeker, twenty thousand hics below ground. With nothing to do but watch his fellow Decepticons bicker mindlessly over simple tasks that he suspected Megatron had given clear instructions about, he found himself about to die of boredom. _'Heh, T.C. would say that was ridiculous. "You can't die from boredom,"'_ he thought, picking up a wad of scrap metal and hurling it at the nearest wall. The scrap rebounded off the wall right back to the black seeker, bringing a grin to his face. He had an idea. He retrieved the metal wad and tossed it at the wall again, catching it on the rebound. Perhaps this wasn't the most exciting activity on the planet, but it would keep him from going stir crazy. With that, he decided to see how many times he could throw and catch the scrap ball in a row, eventually adding a bit of flare to his throws and catches.

He had gotten to an impressive one hundred and twenty six when the argument of two Decepticons moving some dark energon cubes reached his audios. Ugh, another ridiculous disagreement that could be solved by not thinking and just doing as they're told. _'And they say_ I'm _the stupid one.'_

* * *

It had been several megacycles since they had started on their journey to the core, and the Autobots were starting to believe they were getting close. The terrain had been uneven and rough—keeping them from traversing the tunnels in vehicle mode due to Sideswipe's inferior suspension—and no one wanted to incite Ratchet's wrath about another wrecked undercarriage, not after hearing of the medic's reaction to Hot Shot's. The others didn't seem to mind, however, as Powerglide—being an aerial—couldn't transform either. The tunnels were too small.

Sideswipe stared wide-opticked at the scenery with a small smile on his face. He would normally be feeling a bit bored, but the metallic growths along the path had been a beautiful distraction. Clusters of silver, osmium, and platinum riddled the floor, walls, and even the ceiling, causing any area with even a hint of light to shimmer majestically. It left him feeling poetic.

The faintest echo of voices caught the quiet group's attention, however, and they gradually prepared for a confrontation as they slowly made their way towards the source.

"—tron said to put them here!" one of the voices said, sounding pretty agitated.

"Megatron also said to stay here, and what purpose is that serving again? Oh, that's right, _none,_ " the other shot back in a condescending manner.

"Shhhh! Shut up!" the other replied, this time sounding more panicked than angry. "Do you want Skywarp to scrap you?"

"Are you seriously scared of _that_ bolts-for-CPU?"

Sideswipe was dragged out of his eavesdropping when Optimus gestured for everyone to follow him over to the wall.

::So, ol' Buckethead beat us here after all,:: Ironhide muttered over the channel.

::What's the plan, Optimus?:: Warpath asked, positioning himself against the wall.

::Sideswipe, there's a small opening over to the side, see if you can get a visual. The rest of us are too big,:: Optimus said, gaining Sideswipe's full attention.

He looked off in the direction Optimus indicated, spotting the opening. ::Got it.:: He sidled over to it and crawled through, finding himself surrounded by rubble on the other side. That was fine, less chance he'd be seen that way. Slinking his way over to the side the voices were coming from, he searched the pile for an opening to look through. _'Aha!'_ He scooted to the spot he'd found and peered at the other side, finding himself watching the Decepticons who'd been bickering the whole time.

"You know, we aren't getting anywhere with this," the one that had grumbled about Megatron said, resting his servos on his hips. He was a large, bulky ground frame, like Warpath, and Sideswipe was willing to bet that he was a tank too.

"Yeah . . . hey! Speaking of Skywarp, he outranks the both of us. Why not let him settle this?" the other suggested. He was about the same build as the first one, with yellowish paint.

"Aw, c'mon, Ripsplitter! That nutcase would follow Megatron into an acid pit!"

"Hey! Skywarp!" the yellow one, Ripsplitter, called to someone out of Sideswipe's sight.

::What do you see over there, Sideswipe?:: Optimus asked.

" _WHAT_!?" another voice snapped back in annoyance. Probably Skywarp.

::So far, two large grounders, probably tanks. This Skywarp guy is off to the side, but I can't see him.::

::No worries, I've run into him before,:: Powerglide interjected. ::He's a seeker.::

"Where do you think we should put the dark energon?" Ripsplitter asked, pointing to the dark purple cubes in front of him.

Sideswipe stared at the cubes. So that was dark energon.

"Did Lord Megatron give any specific instructions?" Skywarp responded with irritation.

"Yeah, he said to put them he—"

"Then put them there! Why is there even a question!?" Oh yeah, Skywarp was _very_ irritated. " _Primus_ , how stupid can you be?"

" _We're_ stupid?" Ripsplitter's companion grumbled softly. "He's the one who blindly follows every order without question."

"Shut up, Voltage!" Ripsplitter hissed.

The other mech—Voltage, apparently—sneered. "Psh, what's he gonna do? He's an idi—"

 _*CLANG!*_

A large clump of scrap metal slammed into Voltage's head, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. Courtesy of Skywarp, probably.

More importantly, with Voltage's giant frame out of the way, Sideswipe could see what was behind him. ::Update: three more grounders on the far side of the room, about my size. There's also another seeker. That's all I can see.::

A black seeker stepped into his view and snatched up the scrap wad, resting a pede on Voltage and giving the downed mech a smug smirk. "I'd watch your vocalizer if I were you. Lord Megatron might not be as _nice_ to you as I was," he drawled, tossing the scrap into the air and catching it on its way down. So that was Skywarp.

Voltage muttered a curse and climbed back to his pedes as Skywarp flounced back to where he'd come from, rubbing his head.

::Good work, Sideswipe,:: Optimus stated. Eeee, Optimus said good work! No, no, he had to focus. ::Now, see if you can work your way up to the rafters.::

Sideswipe looked up at the aforementioned rafters and grinned. Finding a way onto high places that weren't meant for grounders was something he excelled at. ::You got it, Optimus.::

As he worked his way over to a nearby column, his allies' conversation continued. ::Warpath, I want you to blast that dark energon. See if you can make it look like an accident.::

::Blow it up? KABLAM! With pleasure, Optimus!::

Sideswipe's grin widened when he heard that, his arms wrapping around the column. This should be interesting.

* * *

Skywarp had just been recounting to himself the humiliation he'd inflicted on that insolent little grounder when—

 _*BANG!*_

—the area was suddenly bathed in light from an explosion. Out of reflex, Skywarp immediately activated his warp drive and teleported to the other side of the room. Upon arrival, he squinted back in the direction the explosion had come from. The dark energon. Those idiots must've accidentally jostled the cubes too much. A mistake they wouldn't be repeating, since they were probably very offline right now.

Once it was safe . . . ish, to head over there, he and his remaining allies wandered back to inspect the flaming wreck. Once he got closer, however, he noticed something. He wasn't a scientist at Trypticon Station for no reason, he knew his energon science. He remembered also, that the cubes helped stabilize the dark energon. Which was why when he looked closer, he saw something the other Decepticons didn't. Foul play.

He stepped back a little before teleporting again, swiftly performing the necessary calculations to get him to his desired destination: the rafters. Upon arrival, he swung his gaze in the direction of the tunnels. There. ::Autobots!:: he announced over the comms, readying his neutron assault rifle. ::By the tunnels!::

::Autobots!?:: the bot in command—Crusher-somethingorother—exclaimed. ::What are they doing down here!?::

Skywarp wanted to know that himself, but really, he doubted they felt like sharing. ::Who knows? Can I blast them?:: Before Crusher could answer him though, two of the Autobots transformed and rounded the corner, one a tank, the other a jet. They must have had someone spotting for them who saw him up here. ::Never mind, I'm going after the jet.:: As he transformed and flew after the Autobot—he looked kind of familiar, didn't his name have something to do with gliding?—he could hear his fellows on the ground yelp as the tank came into full view. Oh well, their problem. He unleashed a barrage of laser fire on Whatshisface with a cackle, but his fun was swiftly interrupted by another voice. One that had his attention with one word.

::Skywarp, respond.::

::Yes, Lord Megatron, sir?:: Skywarp replied immediately.

::I want you back on the surface. Your squad doesn't stand a chance against Prime's.::

::Optimus Prime is here?:: Wait, no, not important. Crusher must have informed Megatron of the situation. ::What about the core, sir? I thought you wanted it secured.:: Despite his words, he was already running the necessary equations to get him closer to the surface. It would take a few warps.

Megatron chuckled. That was a good thing. ::I knew Prime would learn of Project Trypticon sooner or later. The Autobot infiltration of Forza that Starscream failed to repel only sped things up. We're done down there.::

Oh, so Starscream slagged up. That made sense. ::And the others?::

::Leave them. Report to Hyperious and tell Starscream to attack, then infiltrate the Autobot base at Marcon. I want the rest of the layout. Megatron out.::

::Yes sir!:: He quickly signed onto the squad's comm channel once Megatron signed off, and gave a hasty, ::Have fun you guys!:: then executed the first of many warps. The other Decepticons' outraged replies were ignored.

* * *

Ironhide swung his sword in a wide arch, catching the spry Decepticon in the side when he failed to block the swing, leaving a deadly gash in his plating. From there, he _could_ have left the other bot to slowly bleed out—Primus knew he likely deserved it—but he knew what Optimus would say about that. Instead, he quickly shot the Decepticon in the spark, bringing a swift end to his life.

Straightening, he glanced up and surveyed the battlefield. Warpath had made short work of one of the other two grounders, and the seeker had been permanently grounded by Powerglide, with some help from Sideswipe. The aerial had seemed very amused by Sideswipe's special brand of aerial combat, clinging to the seeker as he flew to inflict severe damage. It was common for flyers to do so to each other, but rare for a grounder to do the same. Optimus was taking on the bot who seemed to be the leader, but Ironhide wasn't worried about him.

No, he was worried about the other seeker that had disappeared. Skywarp. Powerglide said he'd teleported away, which was apparently a special ability of his, but where had he teleported _to_? In fact, now that he thought about it, this whole thing seemed too easy. No resistance all the way through the tunnels, no resistance on the surface, minor resistance here; either Megatron didn't care if they reached the core or not, or this was a trap, and he was leaning towards a trap.

Optimus fired his blaster, taking out the last of the Decepticons in the area, then looked over at the large archway that presumably led to the actual core. It didn't take long before the group was racing through it to discern the core's status. The sight that greeted them however, was an abysmal one.

The core glowed a sickly violet; with dark, twisted purple crystals jutting out from every nook and cranny. Ironhide could feel his spark sink, and he didn't need to look to know the others felt the same.

"I-Ironhide?" Sideswipe croaked weakly, staring at the core in horror. "Does this mean . . ?"

Ironhide's expression darkened before he replied in a dour tone, "We're too late."

* * *

Notes:

Jazz – G1

Starscream – WFC/FOC and the Exodus book, with some G1 influence

Jetfire – A mix of Cybertron and WFC/FOC. He has the same paint and helm design as Cybertron

Silverbolt, Air Raid, Slingshot, Fireflight, Skydive – Mostly G1

Hot Shot – Cybertron

Optimus Prime – A mix of G1, WFC/FOC, and the Exodus book

Prowl – G1

Perceptor – G1

Ultra Magnus – G1 and Prime

Sideswipe – G1

Bluestreak – G1

Sunstreaker – G1

Red Alert – G1

Ironhide – G1

Powerglide – G1

Warpath – G1 and WFC/FOC

Skyfire – G1, minus his past with Starscream

Skywarp – G1


	2. Chapter 2

What is this? An update within two months of posting!? It's a miracle! Seriously though, the reason I don't have a writing schedule is because my muse is incredibly flighty. Too many stories clamoring for my attention. This one is strong as of right now though, so hopefully chapter three won't take too long. It also helps to know so many people like it! I squealed over every review, literally. Also, I learned something new about dialogue punctuation, so chapter one will be updated soon.

This chapter is a bit heavier on the OCs, but that's not permanent. Silverstreak is not really a _main_ main character.

So, a note for you all is what I think about transformers and tears. Optic lenses are made of glass, right? And we all know how much glass hates to stay clean. So, Cybertronian 'tears' are a special cleaning solution for their lenses, and certain feelings can cause it to activate when unneeded.

Is a disclaimer necessary on another chapter? I don't think it is, but if so, the word disclaimer is my disclaimer.

* * *

-Chapter Two-

The room was large and spherical, and the crystals were huge and glowing the same sickly violet as the core itself, growing in thick, intimidating columns towering all the way to the ceiling. Optimus and his team were feeling very small while they stared up at the core, feeling just as much awe as they did horror. The core was a sight to behold, even when its light was weak and failing. However, there was no time to spare. They were too late to stop the core from being corrupted by the dark energon, but perhaps they could keep it from getting worse.

Optimus cautiously stepped closer to one of the massive dark energon crystals, examining it carefully. If he could find out how Megatron had caused the infection, he might be able to cut it off. Ironhide seemed to realize what he was doing and told the other three mechs to do the same, the remaining team members splitting up to follow the Prime's lead.

There was a bridge leading to the core, but it was about the only thing available to stand on. Most of the bridge's surface area was tainted by the dark energon, so watching one's step was a must. Optimus slowly peered over the edge, his optics following the stalk of the crystal underneath the bridge and into the core. It seemed that whatever had spread the sickness was in the core itself.

Optimus frowned and worked his way over to the core of his planet, scanning its surface for something that appeared out of place. His gaze was soon drawn to what looked like a purple, oozing growth on the upper right side. That didn't look natural. "Powerglide," Optimus called, waving the aerial over. "Do you see that?" He pointed at the growth once Powerglide had gotten near.

Powerglide's optics followed Optimus's digit, widening when he saw what he was referring to. "I do."

"I need you to fly up there and see if you can pull it off," Optimus continued, crossing his arms now that Powerglide had seen the strange thing.

"No problem, Optimus," the aerial replied, firing up his thrusters to fly into the air. Ironhide, Warpath, and Sideswipe arrived at Optimus's side as Powerglide approached the growth, watching their comrade closely with various expressions of concern. The oozy object was cautiously grasped by the red jet, his thrusters whining loudly when he struggled to yank it off.

Optimus's spark leapt into his intake when Powerglide was sent hurtling backwards from his momentum, the growth finally relinquishing its hold on the core's surface. Thankfully though, he managed to recover without too much trouble.

"Set it here, Powerglide," Ironhide said, pointing at a relatively safe part of the bridge.

The aerial said nothing back, but followed the commander's instructions. The other Autobots gave him a wide berth while he landed, gingerly setting down the—upon closer examination— _disgusting_ thing that had been glued to the core.

". . . What _is_ that thing?" Sideswipe asked, staring at it with a disturbed grimace.

"I'm not sure," Optimus replied, moving to take a closer look.

Before he could get too far, a servo grasped him by the shoulder. "Yer not gonna touch it, are ya Prime?"

Optimus looked back at Ironhide and tapped his servo reassuringly. "Of course not. I'm not quite _that_ crazy."

Looking somewhat appeased, Ironhide released Optimus's shoulder and began watching him closely.

Now free to wander as close as he dared to possibly-deadly, oozing, purple growths; Optimus took a couple more careful steps before examining the thing before him with a critical optic. At first, he was worried that he wouldn't be able to discover what it was, but then a certain spot devoid of obstructions to his view gave him the information he needed. ". . . It's an energon pump," he announced, staring at the user interface on its side.

"So, that's how they poisoned the core, at least," Warpath muttered.

"So it seems," Optimus agreed. "It's covered in dark energon, and I can only assume it's filled with it as well."

"How'd they even know how to handle this stuff without—BLAM!—blowing themselves to smithereens?"

"Jetfire told me that Starscream was one of his fellow scientists at Trypticon Station." Optimus turned around to face the core once again as he spoke, debating what else he could do to help the core. "Now that I think about it, I believe he's mentioned that Skywarp mech as well."

"That would explain why he was here. From what I've gathered, he's actually a fairly high-ranking 'Con," Powerglide added, looking over his servos after obsessively wiping them clean with a rag.

"Did y'all notice that he never came back after he teleported off?" Ironhide asked.

"Yeah, I would've noticed if things in the air went back to two against one."

"As suspicious as Skywarp's disappearance is, I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about it down here," Optimus interjected with a sigh. Megatron's plans were growing more and more difficult to follow and predict. He couldn't hope to guess why Skywarp left so soon—aside from possible cowardice—and he couldn't for the life of him think of what Megatron could stand to gain from infecting the core like this. Regardless, the sight of energy pulsing through one of the towering crystals gave him an idea of how to help the sick core even further. "Everyone, cut down those crystals. I think they're helping the flow of the dark energon."

"Gotcha, Prime! Let's—SHLUNK!—slice these things, guys!" Warpath exclaimed, transforming his arms into two, razor sharp blades and charging one of the aforementioned crystals with an excited 'whoop!'

Optimus wasn't feeling quite as enthusiastic as the tank, but he was no less ruthless when he equipped his energy axe and swung it at the nearest crystal pillar. The sound of the crystals shattering echoed throughout the chamber once the remaining three Autobots followed Warpath's lead, prompting Optimus to dial back the sensitivity of his audio receptors. The resounding crashes weren't the only effect caused by their assault, however. Slimy, purple gunk much like the substance covering the pump coated the surface of the crystals and most of the floor as well, making it difficult to navigate the bridge safely. Thankfully, with Powerglide's ability to reach the higher up crystals, they were able finish off the majority of them rather swiftly with the remaining ones taking only slightly longer.

Warpath examined his blades with narrowed optics after he destroyed the last crystal. "So . . . how do I get this stuff off?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of his goop-covered swords.

"Very carefully," Optimus replied, tossing the other mech a clean rag. As he pulled out another rag to begin cleaning his axe, he turned his attention back to the core. It was glowing a little brighter now, thankfully, but it was still clearly unhealthy. He just didn't know what else to do . . .

" **Optimus Prime.** "

Optimus started when he heard the strange, booming voice say his name, his optics darting about the chamber while he tried to pinpoint the source. They eventually fell on his comrades, who were looking remarkably calm despite the mysterious voice.

Sideswipe noticed his baffled stare first, giving him a similarly confused look in return. "Uh . . . Optimus? Is something wrong?"

Sideswipe's words drew the attention of the other mechs, who were now all giving him concerned looks. Optimus could only blink back at them. "Did you not hear that?"

"Hear what?" Powerglide asked.

Optimus blinked again. "Someone said my name," he explained.

"I didn't hear anything," Warpath said with a shrug.

"Me neither," Sideswipe agreed.

"You sure you heard something, Prime?" Ironhide inquired, squinting at his leader.

"Yes," Optimus answered, suppressing the desire to cross his arms and instead scrubbing his axe a bit more. "Frankly, I'm surprised you _didn't_. It was very loud." The other Autobots glanced at each other before returning their attention to the Prime, shrugging unhelpfully. Optimus sighed. Maybe the dark energon was getting to him. Jetfire had said it could cause hallucinations, why not make him hear things as well?

"So, what now, Optimus?" Powerglide asked, returning his rag to subspace once he was satisfied that his blades were clean.

Optimus sighed again, glancing at the core. "I'm not su—"

" **Optimus Prime.** "

There it was again. He paid little heed to the confusion and concern that his dropped sentence caused, turning in the direction the voice seemed to originate from. Was it . . . coming from the core?

"Prime?"

Ironhide went ignored as Optimus approached the core cautiously. What on Cybertron? Was the core _talking_ to him? How could that be? He had to be going crazy. Still . . . what if he wasn't? ". . . Hello?"

"I think he's lost it."

"Shut up, Powerglide."

"C'mon, Ironhide, he's talking to the air!"

"No he's not, he's talkin' to that voice. Probably heard it again."

"It might as well be the air."

Optimus tuned out the bickering behind him and focused his attention on the core. Would it answer him? If not, then Powerglide might just be right. "Hello? Who's there?"

" **I am the core. The spark of Cybertron,** " The voice finally continued. " **You and yours have done well in freeing me from the dark energon's influence, but I am afraid that your efforts come too late.** "

Optimus could feel his spark sinking to his tanks. "What do you mean?" he asked, though he had his suspicions.

" **The damage has already been done. While my systems can, with proper time, purge the remaining dark energon, it will take many stellar cycles.** "

His expression became clouded with concern. What was the core trying to tell him? If it could repair the damage, what was the problem?

" **To do this, I must shut down, and Cybertron will no longer be able to support life during that time.** "

It was at that moment that Optimus could feel his spark filling with sorrow. No longer support life? ". . . For how long?"

" **That is hard to say. If all goes well, around a few millenia.** "

A few millenia? Regardless of how much 'a few' was, that was far longer than any Cybertronian could survive without energon. He knew what the core meant when it said that Cybertron would not be able to support life, it meant that the production of energon would cease. It had already slowed noticeably. "What are we to do during that time?" he wondered aloud, not entirely aware that he was even speaking. "We can't stay, not without energon, but where can we go?"

" **I cannot say. I can, however, offer some guidance. You must build up your stores of energon while you can, and build a ship. There are other worlds out there that are capable of producing energon, and even civilizations started by Cybertronians who explored the stars long ago.** "

Optimus nodded. If they could find one of those worlds, then they could stay there while Cybertron healed. One thing still remained a mystery to him though . . . "How will we know when to return?"

The core was silent for a moment, before opening a small hatch that Optimus hadn't noticed. " **Come closer,** " it instructed. When he did as asked, the core continued, " **You have heard of the Matrix of Leadership, I presume?** " it asked, though it seemed to already know the answer.

"Yes, I have." The Matrix was something that most bots had at least _heard_ of. It was given to the Prime, the leader of Cybertron, but it had gone missing around the time Sentinel Prime took office. Some thought it was Sentinel who was responsible for its disappearance, but then, Sentinel was a favorite scapegoat for most Cybertronians. Regardless, it was heralded as a gift from Primus that was supposed to show who Primus had chosen as Prime. It wasn't always the council that had made the decision.

Light spilled out of the hatch as an intricate container was unveiled. It was spherical in shape, with gilded plating and curved handles on either side, and a small opening on the front revealed a swirling blue energy inside. " **This is the Matrix, an artifact of which your predecessor, Sentinel Prime, has proven unworthy. Take it, and with it you will know when to return here.** "

Optimus stared at the glowing artifact before him with wide optics, completely in awe. "I . . . I don't deserve this, I'm . . . I'm not worthy."

" **Our worthiness is not something we decide for ourselves,** " the core stated, " **as we either hold ourselves in too high of an esteem, or too low. Those who are not worthy, believe they are. Those who are worthy, believe they are not. Take it, and let others decide.** "

Optimus wasn't entirely convinced, but if this was the only way to know when to bring his Autobots back . . . then he supposed he must believe the core. Gingerly, he reached out and took the Matrix into his servos, handling it with care as he pulled it closer.

" **Within it is a portion of my spark. So long as it remains, I will live.** "

Optimus nodded, feeling slightly more at ease with that information despite his lingering dread regarding the news he was bringing back to Iacon. His worry returned however—though less all-consuming than before—when the Matrix began to glow. The core didn't seem worried, not that it had a face to read, so he strove to remain calm.

The Matrix drifted out of his grip towards his chest plate, glowing brighter until it faded from view, appearing to go inside of him.

" **Now, you must go from here. Energon will soon grow scarce once I shut down. I wish you all a safe journey. Farewell, Optimus Prime.** "

Optimus waited a few moments to ensure the core was done before offering a quiet, "Farewell," of his own. He felt . . . strange. Perhaps it had something to do with the Matrix. Actually, it probably had a lot to do with the Matrix. Regardless of the source (he was still going with the Matrix) he felt much . . . wiser than before. However, he didn't have time to ponder his newfound wisdom as he had four soldiers that were likely questioning their leader's sanity. He turned to face them, finding a variety of looks directed his way. Ironhide and Warpath had expressions of inquiry and bewilderment respectively, Powerglide seemed wary, and Sideswipe just looked concerned. ". . . I suppose it would be be redundant to ask if you're wondering what just happened," he stated blandly.

The others nodded. "You feel like sharin'?" Ironhide drawled, raising an optic ridge.

Optimus took a moment to think of how best to phrase this, before settling on the blunt answer. "The core spoke to me."

Powerglide narrowed his optics. "What? Are you sure the dark energon isn't messing with you?"

"Well, we all saw it open up and give him something," Warpath interjected. The aerial didn't seem too convinced.

". . . What did it say? Is it gonna be alright?" Sideswipe asked, glancing up at the core. It seemed at least one mech believed him.

Optimus took a deep vent and sighed. He never enjoyed relaying bad news. ". . . Yes, but not anytime soon."

Ironhide's optic ridge seemed to rise even higher. "Meaning?"

The Prime braced himself. ". . . It has to shut down to repair itself, meaning it won't be able to support life for a long time."

Sideswipe blinked, looking more concerned than he had before. ". . . But that means . . ."

". . . We have to leave," Optimus finished grimly.

" _WHAT!?_ " Powerglide exclaimed.

"It is the only thing we _can_ do, Powerglide," Optimus continued sadly. "Energon levels are already dangerously low in certain corners of Cybertron, when the core shuts down, all energon production will cease. We won't be able to survive."

Powerglide continued to stare at Optimus in disbelief. "But . . . but . . ." He seemed to have realized that he couldn't argue with Optimus's words however, growing quiet.

The others looked no better. Sideswipe appeared completely crestfallen, Ironhide was cursing Megatron's name, and Warpath was slamming his fist into the ground. "What the _frag_ was that madmech trying to do!?" the tank exclaimed angrily, pulling his servo back from the fist-shaped dent he'd left in the bridge.

"I . . . cannot say, Warpath," Optimus murmured softly, his thoughts drifting to the Decepticon leader. "I cannot say."

* * *

The mood in Hyperious was one of impatience. The Decepticons stationed there had been itching for the command to begin their assault, but it was taking longer than they had expected. However . . .

"—and then he says 'it's about time,' as if he's implying that I'm slow and inefficient!"

. . . Some mechs weren't overly thrilled about their previous interaction with their leader.

Thundercracker sighed. Starscream wasn't saying anything he hadn't said before. It was like the SIC was on repeat, everything always led back to the same major complaint: Megatron was a terrible leader and they would all be better off if he was in charge instead. While Thundercracker could hardly blame Starscream for disliking their leader—

"—does he think he is!? Was he in Forza!? Did he know the circumstances surrounding it!? NO! How dare he claim this was _my_ fault!? _Who does he think he is!?_ "

—he was really beginning to wish he wouldn't do so quite so loudly. His audios hurt. "Oh, he's not anyone important. Just our leader, who's been known to _shoot_ mechs for insubordination," he drawled sarcastically, giving his fellow seeker a pointed look.

Starscream swung him a caustic glare. "No one asked for your opinion, Thundercracker!"

"Well, _excuse me_ for not wanting you to get shot," Thundercracker grumbled back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed sullenly. "Besides, _you_ were the one who dragged me into your quarters to begin with. I'm starting to think you just wanted to rant my audios off."

"You're _hilarious,_ " Starscream spat sardonically. "You know as well as I do that Megatron is leading us to ruin!"

"Technically, he's led us into a stalemate," Thundercracker corrected, keeping his actual thoughts to himself. Honestly, the fewer mechs who knew about his doubts the better, and one didn't get fewer than zero. Regardless, even if he _did_ tell someone, it certainly wouldn't be Starscream. The war had changed his old friend in the ugliest of ways until he almost couldn't recognize him anymore, and the air commander was far more similar to Megatron than Thundercracker cared to think about. "Did Megatron say how he was going to send word?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"No," Starscream hissed. "Of course not. _That_ would imply that he actually _respects_ me!"

So much for a topic change. "I'm sure he respects your _bloodlust_ if nothing else," Thundercracker muttered bitterly under his vents.

"What was that, Thundercracker?" Starscream inquired, pinning his subordinate with a suspicious gaze.

Thundercracker started a bit. He . . . wasn't aware that he'd said that out loud. "Uh . . . nothing important," he said dismissively. ". . . You were saying . . ?" Hopefully Starscream was more interested in continuing his rant than his interrogation.

Starscream stared at him with narrowed optics for a few more nanokliks before he finally relented. ". . . All that our _glorious_ leader said was that he would send word 'shortly.' Take that as you will."

Thundercracker inwardly thanked Primus that had worked. The last thing he needed was for Starscream to shoot him for treason. The sad thing though, was that Thundercracker _knew_ he'd do it. They had been so close back at Trypticon Station, and even before that at the University. Him, Starscream, Skywarp, and Jetfire, that was how it was; but ever since Megatron had taken the station over . . . it felt like all his friends had changed for the worse. Jetfire went and joined the Autobots for reasons he couldn't even _begin_ to fathom, Starscream had slowly become a tyrant after Megatron's own spark, and Skywarp had grown so malicious and cruel that he thought causing others pain was _funny_. Thundercracker, it seemed, had simply been left behind. At least Skywarp still seemed to like him.

He sighed and turned his gaze to the floor. Skywarp had been the one who'd convinced him to join the Decepticons in the first place, but he couldn't bring himself to get angry at the black jet. Skywarp had always been rather gullible, preferring to let others do the thinking since it was so hard for him to do himself, but it got him into so much trouble. Thundercracker had just wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, Megatron was the answer he was looking for, and maybe that was rather naive of him, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the time. Then came Praxus, and all the hope he had was shattered. He could still hear the screams . . .

" _THUNDERCRACKER!_ "

The unholy shriek made Thundercracker about jump out of his plating with a shout of surprise. "Augh! _What!?_ " he asked, frowning hard at Starscream.

Starscream seemed unimpressed with the blue seeker's icy glare. "I _asked_ you where Skywarp is. _Twice,_ " he growled, stressing the fact that he'd asked twice with the narrowing of his optics.

Thundercracker gave up on glaring, instead rolling his optics in annoyance. "Who am I, his creator? I don't know what he's doing at every nanoklik of the solar cycle, it's not like he comms me whenever he's going somewhere!"

Starscream huffed. "Well, _excuse me_ for hypothesizing that he might have told you something. It's not like he's been much friendlier to _you_ in recent stellar cycles than he has to _me_ or anything," he stated with a toss of his head.

"Don't tell me you're actually bitter about that," Thundercracker said, eyeing Starscream with incredulity. "I mean, you insult his personal hero at every chance you get, how can the fact that he doesn't like you much anymore possibly confuse you?"

"Skywarp's absurd fascination with Megatron is an extension of his defective CPU!" Starscream shouted angrily, his servos balling into fists.

"And then there's the fact that you're constantly insulting his intelligence when you _know_ he's not stupid!" Thundercracker shouted back, more than a little upset at the silver and red seeker's treatment of his other friend. "How can you _not_ understand this!?"

"I call him an idiot because he acts like one, and I'll stop when he starts acting like he has a CPU!" the air commander scoffed, crossing his arms. "Not to mention all of his immature games and practical jokes, he'd best learn some maturity if he wants _my_ respect."

Now it was Thundercracker's turn to scoff. "Skywarp? Learn maturity? That's about as likely as you learning humility."

"I will _pretend_ I didn't hear that."

" _Sorry_ to interrupt, but you two have got a lot of nerve talking like that right in front of me!" The third voice was instantly recognized by the pair of arguing seekers, a familiar frame greeting their optics when they swung their gazes towards the source. "I am _not_ stupid, Screamer, and for your information Lord Megatron had us stay at the core a little longer than expected," Skywarp hissed, glaring daggers at his superior from his position off to the side, servos on his hips and one pede tapping the floor in an aggravated manner.

Starscream glared right back. "Don't call me that!"

"When did you get here?" Thundercracker asked, pinning his friend with a puzzled look.

Skywarp's optics slid over to meet the blue jet's, the hostility in his expression simmering down somewhat. "Right before _Screamer_ asked you what was taking me so long. The first time. I wanted to see how long it would take before he'd yell to get your attention," he explained.

Starscream's glare deepened. "I swear to Primus, Skywarp, they will not find your corpse."

"Oh, spare me the theatrics, pal," Skywarp huffed. "Anyway, _Lord_ Megatron says it's time to attack, _sir._ "

Starscream growled as he stared down the other seeker, and Thundercracker was starting to worry that an actual fight would break out between the two when Starscream straightened from his threatening crouch. ". . . _Fine._ I'll need you to—"

"— _Actually_ Lord Megatron has me doing something else right now, and what Lord Megatron says goes," Skywarp interrupted rather obnoxiously, making Thundercracker want to run over and shake him saying 'don't push him!'

Starscream—thankfully—simply sent Skywarp another glare. "I see," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Thundercracker! You're with me."

Thundercracker grimaced and pushed himself away from the wall. "Are you finally going to tell me just what exactly it is we're attacking?" he grumbled, following the SIC to the door.

"Ah, yes, we're going to raze the city of Velocitron," Starscream replied with a cruel smirk. "Leave none who would oppose us alive!"

Thundercracker paused for a moment, a look of sorrow crossing his face. Velocitron? But . . . Velocitron was mostly neutral. That . . . This wasn't right. They wouldn't stand a chance. He winced as screams echoed in his processor, but the sight of Skywarp peering at him from the side made him plaster on a more blank expression.

"Uh . . . T.C.? You okay?" He asked, giving the blue mech a funny look.

"Err . . . yeah, I'm fine." Thundercracker said before hurrying after Starscream. He was trapped it seemed. One wrong choice, and now he was stuck with it forever.

* * *

Prowl couldn't remember the last time he'd paced so much. Normally, he was perfectly content to sit or stand relatively still while he thought and theorized, but the developments in Hyperious had him feeling uncharacteristically antsy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. The other officers and himself had agreed that Marcon was the most likely target, but somehow he was beginning to believe otherwise.

"Prowl, what are you doing?"

The puzzled voice had Prowl looking over at the doorway, his expression betraying none of his inner trepidation. "Red Alert," he greeted with a nod. "I am thinking."

Red Alert wandered further into the TIC's office, a small stack of data pads in his servos. "Well, that much is obvious. Why are you pacing? That's usually my thing."

Prowl debated with himself for a moment over whether or not he should share, but decided that a second perspective, someone to talk his worries out with would be beneficial. With Jazz resting on Ratchet's orders, Red Alert would do. ". . . I am feeling . . . apprehensive, I suppose."

"Apprehensive?" the security director repeated, placing the pads on the edge of Prowl's desk. "That makes sense. When you're apprehensive you get antsy and when you're antsy you just want to move which leads to excessive pacing like what I do I mean I'm always apprehensive and I for one also start talking fast which I'm doing now why am I even doing this you haven't even said what's bothering you yet!" Red Alert blurted before crossing his arms with a huff. "Never mind. Ignore me. What's wrong?"

Prowl arched an optic ridge at the other mech. It seemed he wasn't the only one acting strange. Red Alert wasn't usually this irritable. In fact, he looked about ready to launch into one of his rants, but something was stopping him. Perhaps he was more interested in what was bothering Prowl. The TIC, however, was in need of a moment to clear his own processor, so the idea of sitting through one of his friend's rants wasn't sounding too horrible. "I could ask you the same. You seem upset," he prompted.

Red Alert appeared to have been caught off guard by that comment. "Upset? I'm not upset," he stated rather unconvincingly. "I'm perfectly fine. If either of us is upset it's you. In fact, we were just talking about how upset you are. At least, that's what I thought we were talking about. You were saying? About being apprehensive?" he shot back evasively, plucking one of the pads from the stack to examine it.

Prowl stared at Red Alert for several moments while the red and white mech flipped through the data pad's contents. He was internalizing still, it seemed. He'd probably be more willing to share what was on his mind after a little more time. Regardless, Prowl supposed he had delayed his own thoughts long enough. "Ah, yes. I must admit that I am not convinced we have actually uncovered Megatron's true intentions regarding Hyperious."

"Oh? Why is that?" Red Alert asked, glancing up.

Prowl pressed his lips together in a thin line. ". . . I have a feeling. Jazz must be rubbing off on me; it is not often that I am so out of sorts over a hunch."

"So, you don't think he's after Marcon?"

"I did not say that," Prowl corrected. "I just do not think Marcon is all that he is after. You cannot tell me that you are not suspicious as well."

"Of course I am," Red Alert snorted, setting the pad back down. "Literally anything that madmech does could be some sort of diversion, for instance, and would we have any idea of that? Probably not."

Prowl paused for a moment, bringing a servo to his chin. ". . . A diversion, you say?" The mission at Forza did seem like it had been too easy. While the Decepticons _had_ put up a defense, they had seemed to give up rather quickly.

"Of course! It's not like Megatron thinks like any of us, he wouldn't be so difficult to predict if he did." Red Alert continued, seeming to go off on a mild rant. "Hidden objectives, ulterior motives, possible diversions; just some of the things I try and admittedly fail to not think about. I don't blame you for feeling so off about this."

Prowl blinked. Red Alert . . . had a point. Megatron _didn't_ think like he did. What Prowl did not consider as a target, Megatron did. Such as primarily neutral cities in an ideal position.

"Prowl? What's the matter?" Red Alert asked, noticing the TIC's silence.

". . . I know what he is doing," Prowl stated grimly, spinning on his heel to head for the door.

"You do? What?" the other mech questioned, following Prowl into the hallway.

"Velocitron. He is going to take the city and attack Marcon from there," was the hurried answer. He had to get to the control room. "Velocitron's position is perfect for an advantage, but I was not factoring it into my calculations as I do not consider it our territory. However, to Megatron, if it is not _his_ territory . . ."

"It's enemy territory," Red Alert finished with a frown just as they reached the lift.

Prowl simply nodded and stepped into the lift, tapping the command for his desired floor. Red Alert didn't follow, likely because the situation was quickly leaving his area of expertise. The tactician's pede tapped the ground impatiently. How could he have allowed this oversight to begin with? He was supposed to decipher what the enemy was doing and plan their counteroffensive, but he had failed. He could only hope he wasn't too late.

The lift doors opened with a soft hiss, allowing Prowl to continue on his way at a brisk pace. Passing Autobots gave him worried looks as he went by, but none of them actually asked what was wrong. They knew if they were needed, they would be called. The control room was soon reached, and Prowl wasted no time in approaching the console. "Teletraan-1, contact Velocitron, Marcon, Glibax, and the Praxus outpost," he instructed, ignoring the ache in his spark when he said his city's name. He would _not_ allow Velocitron to suffer the same fate as Praxus. He wouldn't.

* * *

Silverstreak was still miffed about his last conversation with his brother. At first he had been a bit somber, but as time went on that had faded into the background as frustration took over. Why couldn't Comet see that the Autobots had to fight back against Megatron? He was right. Silverstreak didn't get it.

He shook his head and continued down the street, taking a right to arrive at the entrance of the Autobot camp. He wasn't really allowed inside, which made sense, but with how small the camp was a fair amount of the bots usually recognized him when he arrived at the gate. His most common objective was visiting Lockcharger, so all he really had to do was ask if Lockcharger was free, and they'd either send the Autobot his way, or tell him he was busy.

"Hello, Silverstreak! Looking for Lockcharger, I presume?" the femme on guard duty—a large heli-former—greeted, flashing him a smile.

Silverstreak forced a smile of his own. "Hi Skyburst," he said. "Yeah, I'm looking for him. Is he free right now, or . . ?"

"Dunno. Give me a nanoklik," she replied, placing a digit on the side of her helm to activate her commlink. Her optics glazed over a bit while she conversed with the bot—likely Lockcharger—on the other end, free servo settling on her hip. A few moments later, her attention returned to the smaller mech. "He'll be here in a cycle, he says. We'll see how accurate that winds up being," she said with a wink.

Silverstreak's smile turned more genuine at that little comment. Lockcharger was notorious for underestimating how long it took him to do things, partially because he could never stay focused on what he was doing. "I'm gonna guess _three_ cycles."

"I'm going with four," Skyburst stated.

Silverstreak chuckled, leaning against the fence while they waited. "Say, have you heard from your sister at all? I remember you saying that you wanted to get in touch with her."

Skyburst's optics lit up with a little twinkle. "No, but one of the bots in Marcon is going to transfer here soon, and due to supply reasons he and I are just going to switch places. I'll be able to see Stormclash face to face!"

The velocitronian's smile grew a little strained as she spoke. He had been trying to keep his processor off of Comet, but hearing the excitement in her voice over getting to see her sister again was making him feel quite melancholic. Maybe he'd hunt his brother down later and try to apologize for being so prickly. He was not taking back his beliefs though.

It turned out to be six cycles until Lockcharger's bulky and decidedly _not_ aerodynamic frame rounded the corner, giving Skyburst the prize of closest guess. He should have guessed higher. "Hey, Streaks!" he called as he approached, casting his smaller friend a grin.

"Hey—oof!" Silverstreak squeaked, about falling over sideways when Lockcharger clapped him on the shoulder.

The larger grounder laughed, helping him regain his traction. "I swear, you're _way_ too lightweight. A light _breeze_ could knock you down!"

Silverstreak snickered. "Yeah, well, you giving me a friendly thwack is hardly a light breeze, now is it?"

"Heh, you got me there," Lockcharger conceded. "So, whatcha wanna do? Take a walk or something?"

"Walk sounds good," Silverstreak said. "Maybe we can go to Stryker's place; he said he wants to meet you."

"Sounds like a plan. Which way is it?"

"Left. See you, Skyburst!" Silverstreak gave the chopper a quick wave before leading his friend down the street.

"Later!" she called back.

"So, is Stryker a velocitronian like you, or did he migrate over here because of the war?" Lockcharger asked, folding his servos behind his helm in a relaxed fashion as he followed the smaller bot.

"Nah, he's a native," Silverstreak answered. "He's usually the one I'm racing with at the track."

"Ah. So, who wins?" Silverstreak glanced over, finding a cheeky smirk on the other mech's face to accompany his question. "You or Stryker?"

The sports car donned a youngling-esq pout. "Stryker, usually. But mark my words, one of these solar cycles, I'm gonna beat him."

Lockcharger chuckled. "Got a friendly rivalry going on then, don't you? I should watch you two sometime. Primus knows it's the only taste of speed _I'll_ ever get." He paused for a moment before giving him an inquisitive look. "He gonna be cool with us just showing up with no warning?"

Now it was Silverstreak's turn to laugh. "Totally. He told me, and I quote: 'Swing by whenever, with or without warning. It's the only thing that keeps me sane and not processor-numbingly bored.' He'll be _thrilled_ to see us, regardless of how much he may have been exaggerating at the time."

"Heh, well, if he's _that_ desperate I can't say no."

"Desperate is a good way to describe it. With the circuit shut down, he's going stir-crazy."

"Kinda like your brother, huh?" Lockcharger said with amusement, nudging Silverstreak in the arm.

Silverstreak couldn't help the way his smile again grew a bit forced at the mention of his brother. ". . . Kind of, I guess. Comet's restless for . . . other reasons though."

". . . Ooookay. What's with the downer brooding face?" the larger mech asked, crossing his arms and coming to a stop.

Just like that, Silverstreak's face was once again adorned with an indignant pout. "I do _not_ have a brooding face!"

"Yes you do. It looks like this." His friend schooled his own expression into one of mild concern, with a sprinkling of melancholy.

Silverstreak huffed and placed his servos on his hips. "I don't believe you."

"Brood in front of a mirror sometime and you'll see that I'm right," Lockcharger teased. "Now, seriously, what's the matter?"

The velocitronian let out a put-upon sigh before giving up. It seemed he might as well wear a sign saying 'I'm upset' with how quickly everyone was finding him out. "Fine, fine. Comet and I butted helms a bit last solar cycle, okay? You happy?" he relented.

"Well, that explains why you got all mumble-y when I brought him up," Lockcharger muttered. "What happened?"

"Well . . ." That question earned Lockcharger a nervous glance. If he himself took it so personally, how would _Lockcharger_ respond to Comet's apparent apathy towards Autobot lives? "He . . . um . . . Y'know, this . . . kinda ties into why you haven't _met_ my brother," he mumbled, or _continued_ to mumble, according to the other mech.

Lockcharger raised an optic ridge. "Oh?"

". . . Yeah," Silverstreak sighed. "See . . . he said that he hoped 'one side' would wipe out the other so the war would be over, and when I pointed out that he hadn't specified _which_ side, he said 'what's the difference?' like he didn't care. Because he _doesn't_ care. Things sort of . . . escalated a bit from there. He said you all should have let Megatron just do what he wanted."

The Autobot was quiet for quite a time after he finished, which did nothing to calm his sensory nodes. Was he angry? Silverstreak had never seen Lockcharger angry before, so he had nothing to compare his behavior to. When the other mech finally spoke however, it wasn't with anger, but a sort of reluctant understanding. ". . . I get where he's coming from," he admitted quietly, startling his younger companion.

"What?" Silverstreak asked, throwing the larger mech a baffled look.

"I do," Lockcharger affirmed with a morose shrug. "It's easy to look at a conflict from the outside and think up ways it could have been handled better. I used to do that myself." His gaze drifted off to the side. "I figured out how wrong I was when my city was destroyed. The Decepticons, they leveled the place. When the Autobots arrived, they did their best to help us, and that's when I started to see the difference. It comes from Optimus Prime's principles as opposed to Megatron's. Optimus Prime won't make anyone fight who doesn't want to, but Megatron views anyone—even neutrals—who aren't Decepticons as the enemy and gives orders accordingly." He looked back at Silverstreak with a grim expression. "As for staying out of Megatron's business, you can't let a tyrant do as he wishes. Nothing good will ever come of that. Comet might come around one solar cycle, or he might not. Just don't let it get to you."

Silverstreak bit his lip and looked down at his pedes. "You . . . you thought like that too?"

"I did. I'm pretty sure most of the neutrals in this city do too."

Silverstreak indulged in a short, humorless laugh. "I guess that explains the dirty looks I've been getting around town."

Lockcharger smirked. "You've been hanging out with me too much. Now you're branded as a wretched Autobot-lover." He gave the smaller bot a playful smack on the back, chuckling when the action caused Silverstreak to stumble forward with a yelp. "So, I think we've kept your friend waiting long enough, at least, that's what I'd say if he knew we were coming," he said, a more cheerful tone to his voice, though not quite to the same extent as before. "Now, c'mon lightweight, we've got a racer to save from boredom."

"Ow . . . right."

* * *

The Decepticon forces were abuzz with anticipation as they made their way out of Hyperious and towards their target: the hapless city of Velocitron. As usual, their orders were to kill everyone who wouldn't join them, which made certain mechs very excited. The upcoming slaughter fest would be the highlight of their solar cycle.

It made Thundercracker sick.

The Seeker Corps—otherwise known as the Decepticons' aerial forces—had left at the same time as their ground-bound allies, but were making much better time due to their superior speed. The plan was to begin the attack with an aerial assault anyway, strafing the streets from above while the larger aerials bombed the buildings, so it was hardly a problem, but the closer they got to the city, the worse Thundercracker felt.

He had been part of enough of these attacks to know how it was going to go down, and 'slaughter fest' was an appropriate description. From what he understood, the Autobot presence in Velocitron was small, massively outnumbered by the neutrals that had fled there for safety. He also knew that they stayed near the outskirts of the city so the neutrals would be happy, and likely also to encourage any conflict to take place there rather than the city center.

They didn't know Megatron very well.

The Decepticon leader seemed almost personally offended by anyone who called themselves 'neutral,' calling them complacent and weak. Thundercracker merely saw them as bots who wanted to stay out of the violence, regardless of how they felt about the caste system and government that had started this whole mess.

Dragging himself out of his increasingly depressed musings, he turned his attention to the seeker who was taking Skywarp's place in Starscream's trine formation. He believed his name was Hotlink, and he swore he remembered him from somewhere, possibly Trypticon Station but he couldn't be sure. Whatever his name was, he couldn't bring himself to think of him as the trine's left wing. That was Skywarp's position. Still, Skywarp was busy doing whatever it was that Megatron wanted him to do, so a replacement was necessary. Seekers always flew in threes, it helped their communication and effectiveness. Unfortunately . . .

::—and get closer! Primus, what are you, an amateur!? Correct your flight speed at once!::

. . . Starscream seemed determined to bite the other seeker's head off when he was proving—Primus forbid—less in sync with them than Skywarp. What a shocker, if by shocker you meant totally obvious and to be expected. Of course Hotlink was having trouble; Skywarp, Starscream, and himself had been a trine for stellar cycles and had ages to grow acclimated to the others' flight patterns and styles. Hotlink had a megacycle.

Thundercracker sighed, and decided to try and talk some sense into the commander. This would either go well, or accomplish nothing. There was no in-between with Starscream. ::Starscream, he's not Skywarp. Cut him some slack:: he reasoned, using the most neutral voice he could muster.

::Stay out of this, Thundercracker! I will not allow some dimwitted _insecticon_ to hinder my effectiveness!::

The blue seeker cringed. Insecticon? That was like saying the purple jet had no CPU. Frankly, he was surprised Starscream hadn't used the insult on Skywarp yet, when he thought about it. ::He's only been flying with us for a megacycle, he needs time to—::

::Time I don't have! He _will_ figure out how to fly properly or so help me Primus I'll tear off his wings and feed him to a swarm of scraplets!:: Starscream yelled, and while it was hard to tell in their jet forms, it seemed like Hotlink shrank back a bit.

He knew what was going on. Starscream was still furious about the reaming he'd received from Megatron, as well as Skywarp's own words, and he was taking it out on Hotlink. That poor unfortunate mech. ::You're being unreasonable.:: Thundercracker was fairly certain that Starscream wouldn't lose it and shoot him. The last thing the air commander needed was to replace _another_ part of his trine.

::And you're being impertinent!:: Starscream shot back.

Hotlink opted (wisely) to stay out of the discussion.

::I thought I'd point out the obvious, since you obviously don't care enough to notice it for yourself:: Thundercracker continued. He was purposefully trying to be a bit more obnoxious as, if he could be annoying enough, Starscream might direct his fury on him instead. It wouldn't be the first time he was Starscream's verbal punching bag, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

::Do you _want_ to get thrown in the brig for insubordination?:: Starscream hissed, and Thundercracker could swear he felt the other jet's glare.

::Fine. Throw me in the brig later. See if I care. It'll probably give me some peace and quiet,:: the blue seeker grumbled. He didn't really think Starscream would follow through, mostly because of the point he just made. Besides, his commander would be in a much better mood once he took out his anger on the Autobots. _'And the neutrals,'_ he reminded himself. His gaze drifted back to the horizon while his plan took effect, the grey and red seeker barking something at him venomously. Most likely regarding how he'd make Thundercracker's stay in the brig a miserable one. In the distance, several towering spires began to creep into view. ::Is that it?:: he asked, stopping Starscream's loud tirade.

::. . . Yes, it is:: Starscream replied with a huff before switching from the trine comm to the one belonging to the entire squadron. ::Attention, troops, target is approximately 30 hics straight ahead. Split up on arrival and strafe the streets without mercy. Am I understood?::

A chorus of 'yes sir!'s followed the instructions, enough so that it was highly unlikely Starscream heard Thundercracker's own miserable affirmation. His spark sank even further the closer they got to the city, and in his CPU, he was hoping the Autobots had heard them coming and started an evacuation. Killing Autobots, he could live with. Killing neutrals however?

He tried to suppress the memories of terrified screams as he readied his weapons.

* * *

As expected, Stryker had been utterly _ecstatic_ when he opened his door to find Silverstreak and Lockcharger waiting outside, and was even more excited when Lockcharger had suggested they go to the track. It seemed he really wanted to watch them race.

Silverstreak was in much better spirits now that he was off to his favorite place with his two best friends, a bounce in his step as the small group made their merry way to the criminally underused racetrack. Sure the circuit was shut down, but you'd think other racers would be going nuts from doing nothing just like Stryker. Maybe they were just avoiding the 'Autobot lover.'

To make his solar cycle even better, Stryker and Lockcharger seemed to be hitting it off pretty well. "So, I hear you're usually the one winning these things," Lockcharger said nonchalantly, but Silverstreak totally caught the sly smirk on the other's face.

"That I am," Stryker replied with a chuckle.

Silverstreak was beginning to suspect that part of the reason that they got along so well was their shared love of teasing him. "Hey, you're only beating me by, like, one nanoklik at most," He huffed, feeling the need to defend his reputation.

"So? One nanoklik faster is still faster," Stryker retorted smugly. "I will concede though that he _has_ been harder to beat lately."

" _Thank you,_ " the silver mech said, crossing his arms triumphantly. "Like I said, 'Charger, I'll beat him sooner or later."

"Yeah, let's go with 'later,' 'kay? I'm not giving up my crown that easy."

"You wish. That crown is _mine._ "

"Ha! I called it!" Lockcharger interjected into the conversation that was quickly heading into trash talk territory. "You two are totally rivals! This should be exciting!"

"Glad to hear you're looking forward to this," Stryker laughed, casting the Autobot an amused grin.

"Oh, believe me, I am. I've heard of how wild the races get here," Lockcharger said before slowing to a stop. "Oh, uh, hung on a nanoklik, I've got to take this. A comm from base," he explained, before his optics glazed over.

Stryker and Silverstreak looked at each other and shrugged. "'Kay. We can wait," the former said.

The latter, however, started to feel a little concerned when Lockcharger's expression turned into one of worry. "Uh . . . 'Charger?" he whispered, his concern starting to turn into dread. When Lockcharger finally returned his attention to the pair of velocitronians, a distant noise distracted the youngest from his original question. ". . . What's that noise?"

Stryker's face twisted into one of befuddlement. "Sounds like engines."

Before either of them could speculate further, they found themselves roughly grabbed by their larger companion and yanked off the street, then thrown under a large overhang. Before either of them could ask him what the slag he was doing, the strange noise became a loud roar as the ground where they had been standing went up in a fiery explosion, as did the rest of the street. The screams of terrified citizens soon followed.

". . . 'Ch-'Charger? W-what was that?" Silverstreak eked out, staring into the flames with wide, horrified optics.

Lockcharger seemed to be much less shocked than his companions. "Seekers. _Decepticon_ seekers. They're bombing the street," he answered quietly.

"D-Decepticons!?" Stryker squeaked. "What are Decepticons doing here!?"

"They're going to take the city," was the absent-minded answer, Lockcharger's attention clearly elsewhere. He carefully peeked out from under their meager shelter, only to pull back within two nanokliks. "They're coming back, we need to get out of here before they see us."

"Right . . . they wouldn't hesitate to shoot you, would they?" Stryker stated as he looked at the bright red insignia on Lockcharger's shoulder, trying to appear calm but the shake in his voice was undermining his efforts.

"Or you," Lockcharger added, grabbing Silverstreak by the arm to pull him along.

"What? Us? Why?" Silverstreak asked, his optics still glued to the burning street in unabashed terror.

The Autobot glanced back. "Are either of you interested in becoming Decepticons?"

That snapped up Silverstreak's attention. "What!? No!"

Stryker merely shook his head, warily eyeing the street askance.

"That's why. Assuming they even bother to ask," Lockcharger muttered, plastering himself against the nearest wall. The spot he had dragged them to appeared to be an old shop of some sort, with an awning being the only thing shielding them from aerial view. He sidled down to the edge and peered around the corner. "I need to get you out of here. The city's about to become a war zone."

Stryker scuttled over and rested his servos on Silverstreak's shoulders, shrinking away from the flames. "U-us? Y-you're coming too, right? Y-you can't seriously be planning to stay here." It seemed he had given up on his fake bravado.

"I have to stay. I'm an Autobot, remember?" Lockcharger replied distractedly before abruptly yanking Silverstreak along when he sprinted across the adjacent street, coming to a stop under another overhang. "Alright, I'm only going to say this once: if we get separated somehow, don't go looking for us. Just get out of the city as fast as you can. Decepticons like to start a siege with a couple of bombing runs, but when their ground forces get here, it'll be much harder to run." There was another insistent yank on Silverstreak's arm as he began racing down the street, the distant hum of engines coming to a crescendo when the Decepticons dropped their bombs upon the city a second time. Explosions and energon-curdling screams echoed through the air as the area was bathed in a red glow, nearby mechs and femmes stampeding for shelter.

Smoke billowed out from the surrounding structures as the supports of older, more neglected buildings caved from the damage. In the distance, one seeker trine headed by a grey and red jet loosed a small barrage of missiles at one of the few remaining skyscrapers, sending it crumbling to the ground. Silverstreak didn't want to think about how many bots were just offlined from the falling debris. That was the very center of the city, which seemed to always be crowded. He felt like his spark was in his intake, pulsing a million times every nanoklik. This was all happening too fast. He had just been on his way to the racetrack with his friends not five cycles prior, and now he was getting pulled along as they ran for their lives. He just couldn't process what he was seeing. Was this really happening?

The Decepticons' third pass brought about the annihilation of most of the smaller buildings and snapped the velocitronian out of his shocked state, bringing about the return of his self preservation instincts. Finally getting his legs to work without assistance, he began to sprint after Lockcharger and Stryker, allowing the Autobot to loosen his grip on his arm. They were taking the most direct route to the walls, it seemed. It appeared that the bombing was over, but a quick glance at what had taken its place made his lines run cold. Seekers and other aerials ranging from shuttles to heli-formers like Skyburst were flying low and gunning down the citizens. The image of the city streets riddled with fire, rubble, energon, and the lifeless frames of its inhabitants was one he'd likely spend the rest of his life trying to forget.

"Oooo! Lookie, lookie! An Autobot! It's my lucky solar cycle!"

The scarily cheerful voice was far too close for comfort, and the sudden increase of dust and wind in the air was just as disconcerting. Silverstreak glanced over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't. There was a Decepticon flying after them in vehicular mode, and he was big.

"Eat plasma, Autobot scum! HAHAHAHAHA!" the large, grey-blue heli-former cackled, unleashing a rain of rapid-fire laser bullets after them.

Thankfully, Lockcharger hauled the two neutrals onto a side street before they were shot. Unfortunately, one of the perks of being a heli-former was incredible mobility. Lockcharger shoved Silverstreak and Stryker behind him, transforming his arm into some sort of gun as their pursuer rounded the corner. "RUN!" he shouted before returning fire against the Decepticon.

"GAK! HEY!" the mech squawked, quickly getting back behind cover. "YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT YOU LITTLE CRETIN!"

Silverstreak wasn't sticking around to find out what was going to happen next, and neither was Stryker it seemed. The silver mech wished he could argue with his friend, but he really couldn't. Lockcharger stood a better chance when he didn't have to protect a pair of hapless civilians.

"Hold still, and LET ME _SHOOT_ YOU!"

Silverstreak took some comfort in the fact that Lockcharger was clearly being a difficult target, then focused on running as fast as his legs would allow. If only the road wasn't so mangled from the—

"Silverstreak! This way!"

The younger mech swung his gaze over to Stryker to see the blue mech transform into vehicle mode and skid around a corner. He was going to trust Stryker on this. He transformed into his own silver vehicle mode and sped after him, trying not to think about the fact that instead of the usual obstacles, he was swerving around the remains of other bots.

Stryker had led him onto a smoother patch of road which, most importantly, led to the outer walls, and they weren't the only ones making a frantic escape. They found themselves part of a mob as they raced down the street, but with greater numbers came a bigger target. Another heli-former and a large shuttle came swooping down with their guns blazing, and in the ensuing panic and carnage Silverstreak noticed something. He'd lost sight of Stryker. Where was he? Was he hurt? Had he gotten shot? He scanned the sea of bots around him with a growing sense of hysteria. "Stryker!?" he shouted desperately, his voice drowned out by the screams and shouts surrounding him. He could barely hear himself. "STRYKER!? WHERE ARE YOU!? _STRYKER!_ " There was no answer to be heard from the crowd, and even at his loudest, Silverstreak still had a hard time hearing his own voice. All he could hear was screaming and explosions.

 _*BANG!*_

He let out a frightened shriek when one such explosion occurred not fifty mechanometers ahead of him, his wheels squealing loudly when he frantically pulled to the side to evade the resulting pileup. While that particular wreck was avoided, wrecking in general was not. Wheels scrambling for purchase on the rough terrain succeeded too late, just in time for him to crash into a destroyed storefront. Thankfully, much of his speed had been lost from the maneuver. A pained moan left his vocalizer when he reverted back to robot mode, his vents wheezing from the copious amounts of dust in the air.

He brought a servo up to cover a large gash on his arm as he shakily got back to his pedes. The problem with being lightweight and speedy was when you crashed, there wasn't much in the way of protection. With a cough to help clear his clogged up vents, he carefully made his way back to the hole he had made in the wall and peered outside. The heli-former and shuttle were being joined by some of their comrades now.

Since going back the way he had come wasn't looking like a good option, Silverstreak instead turned and began limping his way over to the back of the store. Maybe there was another way out. He bit back a curse when his legs decided to fail him and he collapsed to the ground, wincing when the his injuries protested against him crawling along the rough ground. An ache appeared in his spark when a thought suddenly occurred to him. Was Comet alright? Had he managed to escape, or was he still in the city? Silverstreak didn't want that argument to be the last things they'd said to each other.

 _'C'mon, Silverstreak. Just get out of the city,'_ he thought. _'Just get . . . out of the city . . .'_

* * *

It had happened so fast. One moment, Prowl was giving him and some others an urgent communique about the Decepticons' plans. The next, Ultra Magnus was watching smoke billowing up from the distant spires of Velocitron. The response had been quick. Reinforcements had been sent from Praxus; Glibax; and, of course, Marcon; but he feared that they might be too late. The Decepticons were ruthless, and the damage had likely already been done. They could only hope to find as many survivors as possible before their enemies.

Ultra Magnus heaved a morose sigh, glancing at the now-silent video screen. There was so much that they had only learned of in the last solar cycle. A spy or traitor in the city, Project Trypticon, and now this. He wondered how Optimus's mission at the core was going. They had left a while ago, but the journey to the core was a long one. Had he reached it yet? A part of him hoped that Megatron _wasn't_ down there, because he was certain he knew how any attempts from his brother at reasoning with the warlord would go. Badly. As far as he knew, Megatron still believed that Optimus had betrayed him back at the beginning of the revolution. That did not bode well for him listening to the Autobot leader.

With another sigh, he returned his attention to the burning silhouette of Velocitron. He was trying to be optimistic, but he really couldn't. There was a feeling of dread in his spark, and he didn't think Velocitron was the last of the Autobots' troubles, he thought it was the beginning. He prayed that he was wrong.

* * *

Another group of Autobots had walked by him completely oblivious to his presence. Score seventeen for Skywarp. He had a good feeling about this solar cycle.

When someone looked at Skywarp, 'spy' was not usually one of the words they associated him with in their CPU. He was loud, immature, and as subtle as a punch to the face. However, when given the right directions from the right source (Megatron), he was actually a fairly competent infiltrator. His teleportation ability and dark color scheme were a major reason for that.

Skywarp carefully snuck out of his hiding place and continued with his mission of mapping the areas of the base their other spy wasn't allowed entrance to. The seeker wasn't entirely certain, but he believed the bot was a low-ranked communications mech. Regardless, the important thing in his CPU was doing this correctly. Megatron's approval was something he wanted desperately, after all.

Still, he couldn't let go of his curiosity about the spy. His name was Double . . . Double-something. If he remembered right, Double-whatever used to be an Autobot. How nice that he had come to his senses and joined the right side.

A sound coming from the other end of the hall snapped Skywarp out of his idle musings, prompting him to make a hasty warp to the same spot he had just crawled out of. Primus, did Autobots _ever_ leave a hallway empty for more than thirty nanokliks? Wait . . . wasn't he supposed to meet Double-whatchamaface in an empty storage room with his finished map in a few cycles? Slaggit, he was. Why couldn't those Autobots just go away and preach love and tolerance somewhere? He had a leader to make prou—err, please. A leader to _please._ Not to mention the fact that he was missing a major throwdown in Velocitron. He wanted to shoot stuff.

When the Autobots left the hall (finally), Skywarp cautiously made his way to the remaining places marked on Double-whozit's map for investigation. He wouldn't let Lord Megatron down like a certain _other_ seeker he knew. He teleported into the first of the remaining rooms with a smug grin, materializing in an obscure corner. He couldn't wait to see the look on Starscream's face when he saw what Lord Megatron had in mind for Marcon. It would be priceless.

Luckily, the Autobots had finally learned the meaning of 'vacate the premises' (likely doing something about Velocitron), so the remainder of the seeker's mapping went off without a hitch. With that, he teleported into the designated meeting closet to await Double-somebody. He was all set to start tapping his pede in impatience when he noticed the grounder already present, and he matched the spy's description. "Pssst, hey, Double-whatsyourface, I'm here," he whispered. He could always strangle the mech if it wasn't the spy, right?

The mech jumped and swung his gaze over to the black jet. "Double _dealer,_ " he corrected with a huff.

"Whatever. Here's your map back," Skywarp said with a flippant wave of his servo. "Do me a favor, and make sure the explosion is _awesome_ okay?"

* * *

Fire was everywhere, and the noise of explosions, screaming, and the collapsing buildings was deafening. Silverstreak never thought he'd be so terrified at the idea of being trapped in his city. He had yet to find Stryker, Lockcharger, or even Comet, but he had bigger things to worry about right now. The ground forces that Lockcharger had spoken of had finally arrived, and it seemed like every corner brought about another brush with offlining.

"Hey hey hey! Come out come out wherever you are, little fella! I just wanna play!" called one such incident. The heli-former that Silverstreak had last seen Lockcharger with had been looting an Autobot corpse—not Lockcharger, but sickening all the same—and mumbling something about how amazing the Autobot's gun was when Silverstreak had crawled his way out of some wreckage. The Decepticon—Cyclonus, he referred to himself as—had instantly recognized him as one of the bots he had seen with the Autobot 'cretin' earlier, and decided that was enough reason to chase the velocitronian all over the city.

Silverstreak was currently shaking in terror behind what remained of a wall, Cyclonus on the other side. He had lost the heli-former for just long enough to hide, but now he was stuck. If he ran, Cyclonus would see him; if he stayed, Cyclonus would find him; and frankly he was having a hard time determining which was the worst scenario.

"Yoohoo, where aaaare youuuu?"

The silver mech struggled to keep his vents quiet,which was proving to be quite the challenge. He was exhausted, and was running at a much higher temperature than what could be considered safe. As a result, his systems were trying to hyperventilate him, which was not conducive to remaining silent. Why was this Decepticon so obsessed anyway? Was it because he happened to be seen with an Autobot? Was he branded as an Autobot sympathizer now?

"C'mon ya stupid little good-for-nothing Autobot lover! I've got other things to destroy this solar cycle too y'know!"

He was. He didn't care if it was true at present, what he cared about was this blatant use of 'guilt by association.' For all that Decepticon knew, he had never met Lockcharger before in his life.

"You can't hide foreveeeer—"

"Cyclonus, what are you doing all the way out here? The Autobots are that way."

Silverstreak's spark felt like it leapt into his intake at the second voice. Oh Primus, not another one.

"What do you care Demolishor? Why aren't _you_ over there?"

"I saw you. And I care because it's weird. You're always neck-deep in action."

"I'm trying to blow a little Autobrat to smithereens."

"There's an Autobot out here too?"

"Nah, just a useless neutral I saw with one earlier. The world won't miss him."

". . . You do realize we're only supposed to shoot the ones that won't join us, right?"

"Psh, you know as well as I do that Starscream's not gonna care. But since you insist . . . HEY! BRAT! IF YOU WANNA JOIN THE WINNING SIDE, COME OUT! IF YOU WANNA BE STUPID AND LET ME SNUFF OUT YOUR SPARK, DON'T SAY ANYTHING!"

Silverstreak cringed at the sudden volume to Cyclonus's voice, frightened tears biting at his optics. They were going to snuff him. That other one was going to help Cyclonus snuff him. What was he going to do?

"Well, he's not going to want to join us _now._ Not after you've been chasing him like this."

"Why, Demolishor! If I didn't know any better, I'd think you disapproved of my methods!"

"Well, I didn't say _that_ . . . and I have to say that wall over there is looking very suspicious."

"I'll go right, you go left?"

"Sounds good to me!"

A suspiciously similar sound to when Lockcharger had equipped his gun followed Demolishor's agreement, making Silverstreak's tanks turn in distress. He had to think. He couldn't just stand here and offline.

Obviously, he couldn't fight his way out. Cyclonus was close to twice his size and armed for solar cycles, and Demolishor didn't sound like someone he wanted to tangle with either. Beyond that, Silverstreak himself was admittedly a complete weakling when it came to physical strength. They'd flatten him. However . . . he _was_ fast. He knew heli-formers were fast too, and the road was hardly in good shape anymore, but it was his only chance. He didn't know what Demolishor was, but that variable did nothing to change the fact that this was his best shot at survival. His plan in mind, Silverstreak glanced left and right to determine which direction had the superior road conditions. The left was immediately ruled out when he noticed a pile of rubble blocking the way, so right it was.

He silently crouched down—mindful of his various injuries—as if he was about to begin a simple pede race, sent a quick prayer to Primus that this would work, then took off; transforming once he had a good enough running start.

"HEY! Demolishor, CATCH HIM!"

The swiftest glance into his rear view mirror showed that Cyclonus had wasted no time in transforming to give chase, and revealed Demolishor's frame. Primus, he was a tank. A _tank._ Thankfully, that meant he wouldn't be able to keep up.

Returning his attention to the road, he focused on taking the most heli-former-unfriendly route possible in a desperate bid to shake his pursuer. Cyclonus was a skilled flyer though, so each attempt was really just making him grow more irritated. "HOLD STILL!" he barked, a storm of bullets painfully grazing the grounder's side.

Silverstreak winced and swerved onto a narrow side street, panicking the instant he saw the fallen building blocking the way. Offlined by collision, or offlined by Cyclonus? He didn't want either. He slammed on his brakes, the action causing another bullet assault to miss. He had about six nanokliks until Cyclonus turned around.

His optics darted about for something, _anything_ that would help him, and the sight of a small hole to the underground tunnels was a gift from Primus. He fired up his engine once more and raced over to the tiny opening, bracing himself for the impact when he reverted back to robot mode and slid inside. On the bright side, there was no way on Cybertron that Cyclonus would be able to follow him through there. He was too big. Unfortunately, the drop was a bit higher than he anticipated, leaving an ache in his entire frame when he finally stood again. His somersault had helped somewhat, but not by much.

Silverstreak had no time to stand there however, as it seemed Cyclonus wasn't taking no for an answer. He was blasting at the ground above, and it didn't take a genius to realize that he was widening the entrance. The velocitronian sped away down the tunnel in vehicle mode, taking solace in the fact that at least the Decepticon wouldn't be able to transform in the tight space.

The underground tunnel was, sadly, not very long it seemed, and Silverstreak soon found himself resurfacing amongst a ton of rubble near the outskirts of the city. One turn around a fallen apartment building though, and his optics settled on the most wonderful sight he could have hoped for. The outer wall. All he had to do was get to the other side and he was out of the city. He had to be creative though, as there was no gate to be seen and the wall was very tall.

Silverstreak transformed and sprinted up to the remaining obstacle, scanning it for any possible servo and pede holds, but the wall was as smooth as could be. Climbing was out then. With a frantic look around him he decided he could maybe build himself some sort of haphazard structure to climb instead, but that sounded dangerous, and noisy should he fail. If only Stryker was still there. The other mech could have given him a boost, then he could have pulled the other over.

As he thought on this further, hoping to think up a solution before Cyclonus caught up, a sound caught his attention. Pedesteps. He whirled around, hoping to see another neutral. It wasn't. It wasn't Cyclonus either, but Silverstreak's spark still dropped. It wasn't the heli-former, but the purple insignia emblazoned on the seeker's wings was the same. A Decepticon, and this time, Silverstreak really did have no way out. He was absolutely doomed.

The blue seeker spotted him an instant later and had his weapon trained on the grounder before he could blink, but for some reason, he didn't shoot. Not yet anyway. Did he just want to see him squirm? If Cyclonus and Demolishor were any indication, Decepticons seemed to get some sort of sick pleasure out of picking on those who couldn't fight back, so perhaps he did. The Decepticon's optics seemed to be scanning his frame for something, making Silverstreak feel very small. The seeker was bigger than Cyclonus, and towered over the grounder with an unreadable expression. ". . . I don't suppose you're interested in joining the Decepticons, are you?" he finally said, sounding almost . . . sullen.

Silverstreak was fully aware of the fact that he was shaking, but for whatever reason, he found himself answering the jet. "W-w-why w-would I?" he eked out, sounding about as small as he looked. "You go around killing bots who can't even fight back! I hope you're proud of yourselves, because I don't see how any of the things you're doing are helping Cybertron!" This was probably not the most intelligent thing to say to someone who had a gun aimed at his face, but he was going to shoot him anyway, right? He might as well speak his mind before his spark was snuffed. "You're just slaughtering thousands of innocent bots!"

The seeker stared at him for an excruciatingly long time, his optics flashing with indecision and . . . guilt? That couldn't be right. He was probably angry. Was he going to shoot him, or not? The next thing he did was equally strange. He looked over his shoulder to the left, then to the right as if making sure no one was looking, then glanced quickly at the wall. ". . . You're right," he said, startling Silverstreak into continued silence. His fear returned tenfold however when the seeker switched out his current weapon for a larger, meaner-looking one; took aim; and fired. Silverstreak could only shrink back and cower behind his arms as he braced himself.

A few nanokliks later, he was wondering why he was still alive. He peeked out from behind his arms to see the Decepticon walking away, disappearing behind the collapsed building. After blinking in shock, he glanced over at the wall and stared. He hadn't shot at him at all. He'd instead blown a hole in the wall for him. _'What . . ?'_

"Yo, Thundercracker, what were you shooting at just now?" an all too familiar voice inquired of whom Silverstreak assumed was the seeker, making the velocitronian's lines run cold.

"Oh uh, just some neutral straggler," Thundercracker replied, shocking Silverstreak for the third time.

"Was he silver? About yea high?"

"Yes."

"Aw, lug nuts! Didja snuff him? I've been trying to get him for a while now!"

"He's offflined. I wouldn't bother looking for him."

"Slaggit! _I_ wanted to do that!"

"You _always_ want to do that."

"What are you doing out here anyway!?"

"Starscream wanted me to pick off any stragglers. I'm _sorry_ if that inconveniences you."

"Tch . . ."

"Why are you even bothering with him, Cyclonus? You're supposed to be helping with the Autobots."

"I saw him with an Autobot earlier!"

"I don't care. You'd best head back before I tell Starscream that you've gotten distracted."

". . . Snitch."

The sound of a transformation followed, the sight of Cyclonus flying off greeting Silverstreak soon after. His thoughts were still reeling over what had just happened. This . . . Thundercracker had not only spared his life, but had also lied for him and given him an escape route. Speaking of which . . . The grounder spun on his heel and darted through the opening in the wall, transforming into vehicle mode to race across the ruined landscape. He could puzzle over Thundercracker another time.

* * *

The mood that had descended on Optimus's team was a solemn one indeed as they slowly made their way back to the surface. The news of Cybertron needing to shut down for an indefinite amount of time was far from what any of them had expected, and none of them were prepared for the knowledge that this meant they needed to find a new home.

The Prime glanced over at his troops. Ironhide was probably one of the most outwardly upset, his expression alone promising vengeance for their planet.

Sideswipe was the other bot with the most obvious reaction, though his was more of despair. Optimus suspected, however, that rage would take over should they run into any more Decepticons. The Prime felt the same himself, but he couldn't say he would be proud of himself for such a response. Many of the Decepticons likely had no idea what their leader's plan had done.

Warpath was silent, which spoke volumes about his thoughts on the matter. Every now and then he'd shake his head and heave a morose sigh before falling silent again, his optics glaring at nothing.

Powerglide was equally silent, but his movements were more animated. Occasionally his servos would go to his head in sorrow only for him to swing them back to his sides again with a frustrated grunt, then he'd cross them and glare off into space.

Optimus himself was wondering how he was going to tell his Autobots the terrible news. There would be many who wouldn't believe him, or would go into denial, but he knew what he had to do, and he would not make them follow him if they were set against it.

Glancing up, he was at last greeted by the sight of the archway at the surface. He had best inform Skyfire and Sunstreaker that they had returned. ::Skyfire, come in.::

::Optimus! Are you all alright? Was everything okay down there?:: Skyfire responded, sounding relieved.

Optimus could only sigh as they exited the tunnel, his optics locking onto the path he had last seen the shuttle and front liner on. ::We're unharmed, but I'm . . . afraid I cannot say the same of the core.::

::. . . I . . . can't say everything is alright up here either. Where are you?::

::We just exited the tunnel Skyfire. Where are you and Sunstreaker?:: the Prime asked, already dreading what Skyfire had to report.

:J:ust follow the path we took earlier and you should find us no problem.::

::Understood. We'll be right there.:: Optimus signed off and gestured for his companions to follow as he made his way down the path. The quicker they reached Skyfire, the better.

* * *

"Um . . ." Skyfire began, looking down at Sunstreaker, "they've left the tunnel and are on their way back."

Sunstreaker grunted softly in acknowledgement, his gaze planted firmly on the horizon.

Skyfire kept his disappointment over the smaller mech's minimal reaction to himself. It was, after all, consistent with his reaction any other time the shuttle had tried to speak with him, and there was also the fact that he appeared to be staring at the smoke rising in the distance. Skyfire looked down at the ground as he thought about the comm they had received from Prowl. How was he going to tell Optimus about Velocitron?

It seemed he would have figure it out on the fly, unfortunately, since he soon spotted the rest of their group coming up the path. There was something off with them though. Warpath wasn't talking about how they were going to teach the Decepticons a lesson for messing with the core and Powerglide seemed subdued, which both set off major alarm bells in Skyfire's CPU. He waved to get their attention, and found himself concerned even further when Sideswipe assaulted his brother with a crushing hug, sadness written all over his face. He hadn't known the mech for very long, but Sideswipe had seemed like the cheerful, optimistic sort, and he was probably right if the concern creeping into Sunstreaker's own expression was any indication.

". . . Sides? What's wrong?" Sunstreaker mumbled, looking uncomfortable with the embrace but doing nothing to dislodge his sibling.

"Err, Optimus? I . . . have news from Prowl," Skyfire began, dragging his gaze away from the brothers. Might as well get this over with.

Optimus finished making his way over to the shuttle and gave Skyfire a wary look. "Yes?"

". . . The Decepticons have . . . attacked Velocitron," the white mech continued hesitantly, his wings sinking along with the look on Optimus's face as he pointed in the direction of the distant smoke.

". . . Velocitron?" Optimus vented with the voice of a mech who had just received more bad news than he could take.

"Velocitron!?" The news, at least, seemed to put some life back into Ironhide. "It ain't enough that he practically killed the planet, so now he's gotta kill more civilians too!?"

Sunstreaker snapped his gaze over to the larger frontliner. "Killed the planet!?"

"It's not dead, Sunny . . . but it might as well be . . ." Sideswipe murmured, squeezing closer to the yellow bot.

"Cybertron has to shut down and heal," Optimus explained with all the strength he could muster, though he still sounded like he was taking in the information about Velocitron. "As a result, it won't be able to support life for a long time."

Skyfire felt like he had been shot. He had thought of several possible side effects of the dark energon poisoning, but this had not been one of them. Shut down? Unable to support life? That meant . . . "We're going to have to run, aren't we? Find another planet."

"If I ever get the chance, I'm gonna—KABLAM!—blast Megatron right between the optics!" Warpath fumed, kicking a large piece of rubble.

"Join the club," Ironhide agreed darkly, crossing his arms.

"We need to get back to Iacon as soon as possible," Optimus said after taking a steadying vent.

Skyfire looked around, taking in the moods of his fellows. Warpath, Ironhide, and Sunstreaker looked positively murderous, while everyone else—himself included—clearly needed time to recover from the shock. Yes, returning to Iacon was probably the best course of action. "On it, Optimus," he replied with a nod before transforming. He felt numb. There was just too much to take in all at once. So when everyone climbed inside, he had nothing to say before taking off.

* * *

The Badlands. A gigantic area of, well, bad land that encompassed a large part of Cybertron's landmass. There wasn't much to be seen out there, but it was the location where Grimlock and the rest of the Lightning Strike Coalition had last been heard from, more or less. If one wanted to be technical, it was the place where one of Grimlock's group had noticed their ship was giving location pings to the base at Proximax, and proceeded to disable the function. Probably on Grimlock's orders. Regardless, it was their last known location, and they had been heading west. So the team sent to find the MIA group had to follow their trail. Through the Badlands.

The search team in question was composed of an orange and yellow triplechanger named Sandstorm, who transformed into both an heli-former and an off-roader; a red and grey grounder named Windcharger; and another grounder with a red and blue paint job named Gears. They had been sent by Rodimus—one of Optimus Prime's two Seconds and commander in Proximax—to find the Lightning Strike Coalition, and they were not pleased about the assignment.

"Seriously, why do we even bother? It's not like they listen to anybody but Grimlock," Gears grumbled as he drove after the others over the cracked and abused ground.

"What about Grimlock?" Sandstorm asked.

"Grimlock _especially_ only listens to Grimlock," Windcharger huffed. "This whole escapade was probably his idea."

"C'mon, guys, they're still Autobots, we shouldn't be talking about our comrades like this," Sandstorm reasoned, steering around a large piece of scrap metal.

"Tch, you haven't _met_ Grimlock, have you?" Windcharger asked, mentally shaking his head.

"Well, no, I haven't spoken to him personally, but—"

"There you go."

"Grimlock is a special kind of mean, Sandstorm. He doesn't like 'weakness' for one thing," Gears elaborated, continuing to mutter to himself at a volume too quiet for Windcharger to hear.

"Oh?" Sandstorm prompted. "Well, who does he consider to be weak?"

"Anyone that isn't part of his group," Windcharger replied wryly. "I _will_ admit that some of the others aren't so bad. Sludge is okay, and Swoop's actually kinda nice, but Snarl is a grouch and Slag . . . well, his _name_ is a curse, and he chose it himself. What does that tell you?"

"Oh, uh . . . well." It seemed Sandstorm was beginning to understand why his companions were so sour.

Windcharger sighed. "Still, you have a point. Mean or not, they are Autobots, and we can't just leave them out here if they're in trouble."

"If _Grimlock_ can't handle something, what makes you think we can?" Gears asked. "They're a bunch of fragging _tanks._ "

"Swoop isn't."

"My point stands."

"What's Swoop?" Sandstorm asked, breaking back into the conversation.

"He's a grounder, but heavily armored. Kind of like Ironhide. Have you met Ironhide?" Windcharger replied.

"No."

"Well, think a big, stocky grounder. Anyway, we're just going to find them and report back. No one said we had to rescue them ourselves."

"Fine. But can we hurry this up? My axels are killing me."

"Stop complaining, Gears," Sandstorm stated.

"I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."

"Kup's doing fine," Windcharger pointed out.

"Well _I'm_ not Kup, and frankly the amount of dust around here is ridiculous. It's clogging up my vents and making it hard to see. I don't see why you enjoy this sort of thing, Sandstorm."

The triplechanger laughed. "Where's your sense of adventure, Gears?"

"Nonexistent."

"This is exciting—"

"Not really."

Windcharger sighed again. This was going to be a long drive.

* * *

Skywarp was feeling very impatient. It had been a long while since he'd returned that map to Doubledealer, but the grounder had yet to return. He had even heard over the loudspeakers that his comrades were engaging the Autobot forces sent by Ultra Magnus. That meant they were on their way, which itself meant that they needed to hurry up. If only they weren't reduced to radio silence, then he could endlessly pester Doubledealer until he was done. How long did this take, anyway?

As if in response to his thoughts, the door opened to reveal the mech he was so impatiently waiting for. "There you are, D.D., what took you so long?"

Doubledealer looked unamused about his new nickname. "I didn't take anywhere near as long as you seem to be implying," he huffed. "Now will you do your job and get us out of here already?"

"Fine, fine," Skywarp said, rolling his optics in annoyance. He grabbed the smaller mech by the arm and gave him his best unsettling grin. "Just to warn you, teleportation has been known to be very disorienting. Take care you don't hurt yourself when I let go of you." That said, he activated his warp drive and brought the both of them to the pre-determined coordinates, a safe distance from Marcon. Doubledealer looked sort of sick. Wimp. "Now, you just lie down or something, while I warn Screamer not to get too close, 'kay?" he instructed, clapping the dizzy mech on the shoulder. He laughed when he fell onto his face, then activated his commlink. ::Hey, Screamer.::

::Don't call me that!:: the air commander snapped. ::What do you want, Skywarp!? I'm busy!::

::I was just wondering how close you are to Marcon, is all:: Skywarp replied, smirking to himself.

::What!? Why would you bother me over such a trivial question!?::

::If you knew what I do, you wouldn't consider it very trivial.:: Skywarp was flat-out grinning now, and he could tell it disturbed his shorter companion. ::Believe me, you'll want to tell me.::

:: _Fine._ :: Starscream hissed. ::We're about two hundred hics out. Now tell me what this is about!::

::Just enjoy the view, Screamer.:: With that, he gave the slightly more coherent Doubledealer the signal.

A moment later, the area was consumed with the thunderous roar of an explosion, and Marcon went up in flames.

* * *

Notes:

Thundercracker - G1/WFC, maybe IDW I haven't gotten that far yet in the comics

Skyburst - Earth Wars game, maybe IDW (see above)

Hotlink - Toy bio and the Exodus book

Cyclonus - Armada/Energon

Doubledealer - IDW

Demolishor - Armada/Energon

Gears - G1

Sandstorm - G1

Windcharger - G1


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, sorry for the long delay, this chapter just _did not_ want to come together. I'm afraid the next couple of chapters might act this way too, but I'll do my best to keep that from happening. I was almost tempted to title this chapter 'No one's happy.' I'll be making an edit to chapter two, adding Paddles to the Lightning Strike Coalition and making it so that Swoop was always an aerial. Other than that, I have nothing else to say. Sorry again for the delay.

Beatbox is a character thought up by a friend of mine who apparently wanted a walking, sentient sack of irony.

Also, since I can't say 'muscular' to describe things with transformers, I've invented the term 'hydraulical' because hydraulics. That is all.

* * *

-Chapter Three-

There was pain, so much pain. Something was burning inside of him, twisting into his spark like a knife and leaving behind an aching throb throughout his entire frame. What was happening? Where was he? Nothing felt right. Files and operations had strange labels, they weren't where they were supposed to be, and were out of his reach; denying him access whenever he tried to open them. Why couldn't he access his files? Why were they so different? And—ugh—why did thinking _hurt_? Everything just . . . hurt.

He refused to allow the pain to stop him, of course, investigating every piece of information his systems decided to give him. Finally, one small thing broke through what he now recognized as forced stasis, jogging his memory. That was right . . . the ambush at the Sea of Rust. That explained the pain, but what of his butchered files? And why was thinking . . . so . . . hard? What had broken through the stasis firewalls? That seemed like a good place to start. It had been a sensation. The feel of a welder. Was he being repaired? It would explain the stasis, but his instincts told him otherwise. Why had he felt it anyway? Stasis should have kept him unconscious and incapable of feeling anything, and while he had been known to break himself out of stasis before, he never did so unless he was on edge, so why . . ? Did his subconscious know something he didn't?

Pain shot through his frame one again the longer he puzzled over things, but it was ignored. He was starting to get angry. So . . . angry. He knew what was happening, he knew it, so why couldn't he remember? What was happening to him? Who had blocked him out of his own systems? _Who did this to him_? If he could only online his optics and catch a glimpse of who was using that welder . . . but the command was blocked by the medical firewalls. Puh, firewalls he could handle. With a single-minded focus that was oddly easier to maintain than his own thoughts, he began to ruthlessly beat away at the intruding program. Until he knew for a fact that it was friendly, it was something to be purged. With his unrelenting assault, the firewall was easily overridden and access to his optics regained. However, he didn't want to clue this mysterious bot in on his consciousness, so when he onlined his optics, he did so at the lowest possible setting.

He instantly recognized the frame in his sights, the single red optic taunting him while everything came flooding back. The ambush. The energon. The _experiments_. Rage filled his spark until all he could see was red. The remaining firewalls blocking his motor functions broke down as he roared and struggled against the restraints. He would snuff that mech. Beat him to the ground and skewer him like the scrap he was.

The mech was maddeningly calm as he typed in a few commands on a nearby console and suddenly everything was turning black again. No. NO! He had to . . . get free . . . find the others . . . nrrgh.

He would snuff him. When he got free, he would _end_ Shockwave.

* * *

Thundercracker wished that he had gotten more of a warning than Starscream's sharp 'Fall back!' before Marcon had gone up in flames. Instead, he had been staring directly at the city, which swiftly became a towering inferno with a deafening bang. Now his optics hurt, and—unsurprisingly—the deafening bang had about made him go deaf. Unlike Velocitron, however, he found it difficult to feel guilty about the fate of the Autobot stronghold and the Autobots within. They were the enemy, after all, unlike the neutrals. Neutrals like that one Cyclonus had been after.

::Decepticons!:: Starscream barked, ::They're vulnerable! Strike now!:: He covered it well, but Thundercracker had a sneaking suspicion that Starscream had been in the dark about the bomb attack as well. He sounded a bit irritated, if also eager to shoot down some frazzled aerialbots.

The Autobots were slowly falling into understandable chaos, which gave Thundercracker a chance to transform and reset his optics. Once he could see again, he had an even better view of the Autobots' disorganized front line, as well as the heli-former flying aggravatingly close to him. Sadly, the seeker could only stare at Cyclonus in complete incomprehension when he spoke. " _WHAT_!?" he shouted back, hardly hearing even himself over the ringing in his audios.

"I SAID, WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST HOVERING THERE? LET'S GET ON WITH THE TARGET PRACTICE! AHAHAHAHA!" Cyclonus repeated loudly before flying off, not bothering to ensure he was heard that time.

Thundercracker grimaced a little at the other mech's description. Yes, the Autobots were rather chaotic at the moment, but they were hardly going to stand there and let themselves get shot. Still, he doubted logic would temper Cyclonus's enthusiasm. The heli-former's love of slaughter was likely why he was after that neutral in the city . . . he probably didn't care that the mech obviously was practically a youngling still.

Shaking his head, he transformed back into jet mode and took off to regroup with Starscream and Hotlink. Things had gotten a bit disorganized on their side too, after all, since they weren't expecting the explosion either last he'd checked. A flash of grey and red sped by him and caught his attention, soon followed by a clearly overwhelmed purple seeker. That had to be Starscream.

::Thundercracker! Get back into formation!:: Yes, it was definitely Starscream. ::And you! Keep up, or I'll throw you to the aerialbots!:: he hissed, presumably at Hotlink.

::Err, yes, sir!:: Hotlink responded, increasing his speed a bit.

Thundercracker mentally rolled his optics at Starscream's attitude and smoothly flew back into his position to Starscream's right, preparing for a dogfight once they reached the mess that was the aerialbots.

::To the right, thirty-five degrees!:: the SIC snapped, increasing his speed.

As Thundercracker quickly banked after him, he scanned the battlefield before him and soon spotted the squadron Starscream was leading them towards. It seemed to be a larger group of five aerialbots, none of them seekers. He glanced over at Hotlink and, noting a slight lag in the other mech's movements, sent him a quick ping with the information he'd just found out. Starscream had yelled at the poor mech enough for one solar cycle, he didn't need to scream at him again for missing the target. Hotlink's speed picked up moments later, Thundercracker's sensors receiving a grateful return ping from the purple seeker.

::Hotlink, bank around and flank them! Thundercracker, with me!::

Starscream's latest order surprised Thundercracker, and not just because he actually used Hotlink's name. It was surprising because it wasn't his usual method of attack when flying in a trine, but once Hotlink began to pull out of the formation, the logic hit him. Hotlink wasn't used to flying with them, nor were _they_ accustomed to flying with _him_ , and it seemed Starscream had finally bothered to acknowledge that fact. So, he sent the other seeker to fly semi-solo—which was something every seeker had done before—leaving himself with Thundercracker as the main force of the group. _'This could work,'_ he thought, speeding after the air commander as they closed in behind the aerialbot squadron.

::Fire!::

Thundercracker was shooting before Starscream even finished giving the order. Two of the aerialbots went down instantaneously, letting out a couple of strangled screams. They clearly hadn't noticed them flying behind them. With only three members of the squadron left the group began to scatter, which was when Hotlink made his reappearance, taking down one of the engines of the jet who appeared to be the leader.

::Now, take one and raze them to the ground!:: There was an audible sneer in Starscream's voice when he gave the command, taking off after the jet on the left. ::Hotlink, finish that one off!::

Thundercracker quickly sped after the jet flying off to the right, since it was the only one left. Forcing him into a reverse scissors, he began to watch the other's movements, looking for the perfect moment to strike. He adjusted his angle for an instant to avoid a volley of shots the jet sent his way, soon retaliating once he found his opening.

He could hear the agonized shriek that left the bot's vocalizer when the shots hit, destroying one of his wings and sending him into a fatal corkscrew. Another Decepticon finished him off moments after he transformed in an effort to regain his bearings.

::Sound off!:: Starscream ordered, distracting him from the way his tanks twisted at the sight of the aerialbot plummeting to the ground.

::Mine's offlined,:: Hotlink answered.

::Offlined,:: Thundercracker replied.

::Excellent. Fall in!::

It took Thundercracker a couple nanokliks to spot his trine leader, but forming back up wasn't very difficult. The sight of aerialbots dropping all around them made him wonder though . . . ::What exactly are we after, Starscream? Are we stopping at Marcon, or moving on to Crystal City?::

::Our orders were to take Marcon via Velocitron,:: Starscream answered shortly before directing them to another aerialbot squadron. ::Left, fifty-five degrees!::

Thundercracker glanced at the flaming remains of the city in question as he adjusted his flight pattern to follow. It seemed like their victory—on that front at least—was assured. Unless, of course, the Autobots had some sort of counteroffensive planned already.

* * *

When Marcon exploded, it had been shocking, horrifying, and complete. Bluestreak hadn't been paying attention to the telltale smoke from Velocitron, so he hadn't actually _seen_ the massive fireball, but others had. It was a bit depressing how quickly his solar cycle could go from mingling with his fellows, to staring out the window in panic. X-Brawn and Sideburn were in Marcon! Were his brothers alright? He couldn't bear the thought of losing any more family. The explosion also meant that the 'Cons had moved on from Velocitron . . . Primus, was _Prowl_ alright?

The silver praxian backed away from the window—his place swiftly filled by someone else—and spun around to race to the nearest lift. He couldn't check on Sideburn or X-Brawn, but he could make sure Prowl was okay. The doors of the lift opened with a familiar 'whoosh' but the motion felt so slow all of a sudden, and once he was inside he repeatedly pressed the button for the 32nd floor with frantic urgency. "C'mon, c'mon, hurry up!" he muttered to himself, letting up on his assault when the doors finally slid shut. As the lift began its ascent, Bluestreak began to rock on his pedes, struggling to keep himself from imagining the scene at Marcon and Velocitron. He knew what it would be like; the cold, unforgiving silence of the offlined . . . "No, no, no, don't think like that, Bluestreak, you're just letting your imagination run away with you. Yeah, that's it. Just think about something else, anything else, is Sideswipe doing okay? Hopefully he can tell me about his mission when he gets back—was this thing always this slow!? Primus, it's like it's crawling! . . . Heh, crawling up a building, how silly . . . Why am I laughing at a time like this!? Well, I guess I _was_ trying to distract myself, which I guess would explain some of this . . ."

Before he could ramble on any further, the lift finally came to a stop and slid open the doors with a soft chime. Bluestreak was out in an instant, flying down the hall to reach the main conference room. Prowl hadn't left it since this whole mess started. When he reached it, he took a brief moment to calm his heaving vents and then punched in his access code, hoping that Prowl hadn't locked the room. Luckily, the system pinged its acceptance of the code and the door slid out of the way, giving the silver mech a perfect view of his elder brother.

Prowl was staring out the window, his servos clenched into tight fists on the sill. While Bluestreak couldn't see his face, his especially rigid posture and the way his doorwings trembled ever so slightly told the younger praxian all he needed to know.

He slowly moved closer to the black and white, careful to make some noise in case Prowl hadn't heard him enter, and gently rested a servo on the other mech's shoulder. "Prowl, it's . . . it's not your fault . . ."

From his new position, he could now make out Prowl's expression in the window reflection, and while to the average observer it might have appeared identical to his usual one, Bluestreak could see the inner rage and pain that was being suppressed. ". . . I . . . should have seen this coming sooner. I should have _known_ . . . done something . . ." Prowl stated quietly, his gaze drifting to the ground.

Bluestreak didn't like the guilt he heard in his brother's tone. "It's _not_ your fault, Prowl. No one's blaming you for this," he insisted, trying to catch Prowl's optics.

The other praxian merely ducked his head further and brought his servos to his helm, his elbows taking their place on the sill as he made a sorrowed noise.

Seeing that this wasn't working, Bluestreak decided to change tactics and wrapped his arms around Prowl from the side to try and give what little comfort he could. "You made a mistake, everyone does. Even you."

Prowl didn't object to the hug, but he did object to what was said. "This mistake cost thousands of lives, Bluestreak . . ." he protested. "I should have . . ." a keen followed his terminated sentence.

Bluestreak didn't respond this time, instead providing silent support as he squeezed closer. What could he do . . .

"Incoming transmission. Origin: Praxus."

Prowl practically fazed out of Bluestreak's grip when Teletraan-1 spoke, his usual blank expression back in place as he approached the console. "Let it through."

Bluestreak flailed for a moment before chasing his brother over to the supercomputer, his worried expression not leaving his face.

The viewscreen lit up to reveal a large grounder with a blue paint job. "Chromia, reporting in," she said.

"Chromia, what is the situation out there?" Prowl asked, a hint of urgency to his voice.

"Bad," she replied bluntly. "The Decepticon force is in the way of us sending a rescue team to Marcon, but Crystal City has sent a team of its own, and they should hopefully reach the city while we continue to deal with the Decepticons. As for Velocitron, a few refugees have started to trickle in both here and at Glibax, but we've been unable to make contact with Flashhammer or any other Autobots stationed in the city for several megacycles. I'm afraid we may have to assume the worst."

Prowl's doorwings twitched. "I see," he replied, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

Bluestreak fidgeted in place, feeling a little like he was eavesdropping on a confidential discussion despite the fact that both Prowl and Chromia knew he was there.

"What of Optimus and Ironhide?" Chromia inquired, piquing Bluestreak's interest. Ironhide? Ironhide had been the one to call Sideswipe to the conference room, did this involve him too?

"I am afraid that they have yet to check in," Prowl answered. "However, Skyfire did not report any trouble when I spoke with him a few cycles ago."

The femme nodded. "Understood. I need to be going, but I'll keep this channel open in case anything changes."

"Thank you, Chromia."

Bluestreak's doorwings flicked indecisively while Prowl gave Teletraan-1 the command to end the transmission. "U-um . . ." Once his quiet stuttering and fidgeting garnered Prowl's attention—which hardly took five nanokliks—he wasn't entirely sure what to say. ". . . Err . . . Is Sides with Optimus and Ironhide?" he finally asked in response to the elder mech's expectant look, figuring that was a safe thing to ask.

Prowl was silent for a moment before sighing. "Yes, he is, as are Sunstreaker, Powerglide, Warpath, and Skyfire."

Bluestreak squirmed. ". . . What are they doing?"

To that, his brother raised an optic ridge. "As much as I would like to tell you, you know as well as I do that you cannot keep a secret."

The younger praxian let out a sheepish giggle. "Uh . . . heh, right. Sorry," he mumbled, scuffing his pede against the floor. That was true, he did have a a tendancy (more like a habit) of speaking before thinking, and he'd been known to blurt out secrets before. He knew that most bots liked him regardless, but they never told him anything that they really wanted kept secret anymore. He couldn't blame them, honestly. He could still ask Prowl when he thought they might return though, which was a thought that helped cheer him up, despite the looming fear for Sideburn, X-Brawn, and all the other Autobots in Marcon and Velocitron. "So, do you have an idea of when they'll—"

Prowl raised his servo and motioned for Bluestreak to hold on for a moment, his other servo reaching up to activate his comm link and respond to the bot on the other end.

Bluestreak blinked for a couple of nanokliks before continuing to wiggle, waiting patiently for Prowl to finish. His attention drifted over to the chairs surrounding the table and, figuring that his brother might need to talk for a while, he decided to take a seat. Once seated though, he still couldn't help but squirm in his chair, twiddling his digits nervously. No matter how he tried to keep himself from thinking about Marcon, his CPU kept drifting in that direction. How many bots had they just lost? Velocitron too. How many bots were stationed there? He believed the number was around 500 or so, with everyone else being neutral. Primus, there was no way they could handle an all-out assault by the Decepticons. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms on the tabletop, his doorwings twitching anxiously. Those poor bots, and Prowl was blaming himself for every one of them.

He glanced out of the window at the cloud of smoke in the distance and let out a distressed whine, flopping his head onto his arms. He didn't know what to do. Not to mention that this was before he factored in the mysterious mission Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had gone on. It had to be serious if Optimus was heading it. What could they . . ? _'No no . . . I need to stop being so negative. A rescue team is on its way to Marcon, after all, so help is on the way. Survivors from Velocitron are turning up, and Prowl recently spoke to Skyfire. Yes, everything will be fine. Just . . . just fine . . .'_ he thought to himself, trying to sooth his jittery spark. _'Besides, Prowl's not . . ._ too _worried . . . right . . ?'_ Lifting his head just enough to peer up at his brother, Bluestreak found his attempt to reassure himself ending in failure when he spotted Prowl's expression. He looked . . . devastated, really. Who was he talking to? What else had happened? He was starting to wish that comms had to be spoken aloud.

Bluestreak slowly got to his pedes when Prowl finally signed off of the channel and returned to the window, looking worse off than before. ". . . Prowl? Is . . . Who was that? Or was it confidential?" he asked, approaching his older sibling with a creeping feeling of dread in the pits of his tanks.

Prowl heaved a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to slump. ". . . That was Optimus. He . . . did not have good news," he replied.

Bluestreak's doorwings began to twitch erratically, his digits drumming against his legs. ". . . We . . . we didn't lose anyone . . . did we?" he risked in a small voice, moving closer until he was at his brother's side.

". . . No. However . . . it . . ." Prowl sighed again. "You'll learn soon enough."

The silver mech's doors sank at that comment, but the sound of the conference room door interrupted him before he could ask for more details. He and Prowl swung their gazes over to the entrance, where the owner of a weld-mark addled frame loudly announced his presence.

" _There_ ya are, Prowler! I've been lookin' _everywhere_ for ya!" Jazz exclaimed, standing rather dramatically in the doorway with his servos on the doorframe, making it seem almost like he'd pried the door open.

"Jazz, were you not placed on berth rest by Ratchet?" Prowl drawled in a bland tone, not fazed in the least by the saboteur's theatrics. It seemed the slight leeway he'd allowed himself for showing his emotions had disappeared when Jazz arrived.

The other black and white mech waved a servo in a flippant fashion. "Never mind that, I need ya ta tell me what's goin' on around here," he retorted, finally allowing the door to slide shut by stepping into the room.

One of Prowl's doors flicked irritably. "I am sorry, but you will have to be more specific than that," he chided in the same, dull tone of voice.

It was hard to tell, but Bluestreak was certain that Jazz's optics narrowed under his visor. "Fine," he huffed. "I was feelin' a bit low on the ol' reserves, so I got up ta get my ration. Suddenly, all I'm hearin' about in the rec room is how the 'Cons are invadin' Velocitron, and blowin' up Marcon! What did I recharge through!?"

Jazz's words seemed to bring about the return of Prowl's visible melancholy, the older praxian's doorwings sinking similarly to Bluestreak's own. ". . . I see," he said, sounding a bit subdued. ". . . Bluestreak?"

The sliver mech snapped his optics over to Prowl's face when he heard his name. "Yeah?"

"Perhaps you could go down to the landing bay. Optimus and the others are only a few cycles out and shall be here shortly," Prowl continued, looking Bluestreak in the optics.

Sensing that the other praxian was subtly telling him that he needed to leave, Bluestreak nodded. "Oh, uh . . . sure," he replied, but he couldn't help adding, ". . . And I'm sure that whatever's happened will turn out alright."

The look in Prowl's optics didn't change. ". . . There are times when I am envious of your optimism, Bluestreak," he admitted softly, clasping his servos behind his back.

Bluestreak felt sick to his tanks, breaking optic contact with his brother when he began moving over to the door. Just how bad was Optimus's news? He shook his head and scurried the rest of the distance to the door, giving Jazz a quick, nervous smile while he keyed it open. "Uh, nice to see you're doing better, Jazz," he stated quickly, stepping out into the hall once his code was accepted.

"Thanks, Little Blue," Jazz shot back, giving the silver bot a wave just before the door shut.

Suddenly left loitering in the hallway, Bluestreak began to fidget again. Curiosity drove him to investigate the door, and he found that it was now locked, accessible only to officer-level codes. He wasn't terribly surprised, as he suspected Prowl shooed him out because he needed to bring the other TIC up to date on the situation, which could involve the disclosure of more . . . sensitive information. With that in his CPU, he decided to do as Prowl suggested and await the return of Optimus's team.

He couldn't help the disturbed look on his face as he walked down the hall to the lift, and he hoped that he hadn't worried any passing Autobots too terribly with his expression. He just couldn't stop thinking about about Marcon, Velocitron, his brothers, and now whatever it was that Optimus had told Prowl. Something was horribly wrong, he could just feel it.

* * *

Loose scrap dug into Silverstreak's sides as he sped across the ruined landscape at top speed. The world around him was nothing but a blur, his wheels scraped and abused like he'd driven to the pit and back, but all he could focus on was getting as far away from Velocitron as he could, as fast as possible. Every inch of his frame ached, errors flashing across his vision telling him he was losing energon and that he needed to slow down, cool off, refuel, rest, and _stop_. But he _couldn't_ stop, not until he was safe. He couldn't even think, all that was in his processor was ' _run_ ,' and even his current speed at 1240 hics a megacycle didn't feel fast enough. He didn't even realize that he'd blazed past at least nine Autobot camps in his adrenaline-fueled dash across Cybertron, but soon enough the massive strain he was putting on his systems became too much. Against his will, his emergency protocols overrode his commands and cut his engine, forcing him to slow down until it was safe enough for a forced transformation. Momentum kept him moving for a little while longer, until he finally collapsed on the ground with a harsh thud.

It was around that time that he finally noticed how far he'd gone. Velocitron was now no more than a hint of smoke on the horizon, but unfortunately he also realized that he had no idea where he was. Figuring that out, however, had to be placed on hold in favor of a desperate attempt to stem the flow of energon from his alarmingly massive amount of injuries. Had he really been this bad off the whole time? He hadn't felt it, but _Primus_ did he feel it now. He hadn't understood what Comet had meant when he'd said 'adrenaline' in response to Silverstreak asking why he hadn't noticed a giant gash on his leg during a race, but now he believed he understood.

The memory brought a somber look to Silverstreak's face. He had never found out the fate of his brother, nor Stryker and Lockcharger. Was Comet alright? He _had_ to be alright. He couldn't stand the thought of never apologizing to his brother, and worse than that was the thought of never seeing Comet again. "C-Comet . . . S-Stryker . . . Lockcharger . . ." he gasped out, struggling to even say that much through his erratic ventilations and coughs. If his optics weren't already coated in cleanser in order to clear away dust, they certainly were now. Had that insane Cyclonus character snuffed Lockcharger? What if he'd found Stryker after that seeker had driven him off? Had those bombing runs hit Comet? Was Comet among the countless empty, battered frames that littered the streets? The thought made Silverstreak want to purge, the image of bots he knew staring blankly at him from the ground filling his processor until all he could do was grasp his helm and let out a horrible shriek, eventually cutting himself off with a choked sob. "IT'S NOT REAL! IT CAN'T, I DON'T BELIEVE IT! COMET!" he screamed, curling in on himself as cleanser spilled out of his optics and formed streaks across his dusty face. "THIS ISN'T REAL! PRIMUS, _DON'T LET IT BE REAL_! STRYKER, LOCKCHARGER, _COMET_!"

Time seemed to crawl the longer Silverstreak shrieked and cried, until at long last another error message popped up to say he'd run out of cleanser. He remained motionless on the ground, aside from his heaving vents, for another several cycles before he bothered to actually look at the long list of errors on his HUD. Finally paying attention to the errors blaring in his vision, he could feel his spark sink even further. Primus, he was losing energon from at least seven different major wounds, he was overheating, and his tanks were running on empty; and he didn't have a single drop of energon or coolant, nor anything to stem the energon flow besides his own servos. He was doomed. His vision had already been swimming for a while, and now he knew why. His spark was sapping energy from other systems to keep him alive. Had he survived all this time only to go offline now? What was he to do? He had nothing, he could hardly see . . .

 _*CRUNCH!*_

A strange noise had Silverstreak going eerily silent almost instantaneously. Was someone there?

 _*SCRAPE!*_

Panic overtook logic when he heard a second noise, his pink optics growing wide with terror. Whipping his head around, he finally took note of his surroundings, which were made very blurry from his rapidly failing vision. He seemed to have ended up in some sort of junkyard, by the looks of it, but more important to him at the moment was a small alcove in one of the scrap piles. He could hide in there. Errors flashed across his HUD furiously when he started frantically dragging himself across the rough, jagged ground towards his chosen destination, the fact that he was leaving an incredibly obvious trail of energon behind not occurring to him for even an instant. Once inside the alcove, he curled up defensively and used a piece of sheet metal to cover the entrance, then went as quiet as he could manage, listening closely for any further sounds. To his horror, he heard pedesteps. Pedesteps that were getting closer. By the time a servo pulled the sheet metal out of the way, Silverstreak had convinced himself that he was about to be snuffed.

The bot crouched in the opening of his short-lived hiding place was—had Silverstreak not been quite so energy-deprived—obviously not attempting to threaten him, rather, he seemed very concerned. "My word! Are you alright!?" he exclaimed, his optics growing wide when they locked onto the small puddle of energon forming beneath him. "Vector Sigma, you're going to shut down at this rate. Let's get you out of here—"

Silverstreak began to tremble when the mech started crawling closer. The alcove was not very large, and the mech was a mere mechanometer away when the light from outside glinted off a broken pipe at Silverstreak's pedes. Without stopping to think, he snatched up the pipe and brandished it threateningly at the intruder. "S-S-STAY BACK!" he shouted, his voice laden with static.

The mech reeled back immediately, holding his servos out in a placating manner. "Woah, woah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized. "I just want to help you, you're going to offline if you don't get fixed up soon."

He couldn't see. _He couldn't see_. All Silverstreak knew about this bot was that he was red and white, his vision was too blurry to tell him anything else. "W-who are you!?" he demanded, thanking Primus that the broken end of the pipe was sharp enough to be threatening despite the violent trembles wracking his frame.

"My designation is First Aid. I'm an Autobot medic," the bot answered, sounding patient despite the urgency in his tone. "What about you?"

"S-S-Silverstreak. I'm f-from V-Velocitron," Silverstreak replied. This mech was an Autobot? Lockcharger was an Autobot, he could trust Autobots . . . right?

"Velocitron!? How—?" First Aid stopped himself and seemed to shake his head.

"What? How what!?" Silverstreak squeaked, tightening his grip on the pipe.

"I . . . It's nothing, I promise," was First Aid's answer. "Please, put the pipe down and let me help you," he reasoned, carefully holding out a servo in offering.

Silverstreak stared at the offered servo, then darted his gaze back to the other mech's face. He _had_ wanted to find Autobots . . . Slowly, he set the pipe down and took First Aid's servo, allowing the presumed Autobot to gently help him back outside. Once he was closer, Silverstreak could just make out a familiar red symbol on the other bot's chest before everything finally went black.

* * *

Windcharger recalled a time when he looked at a map and someone said that the Badlands were 'not that big.' He wished he remembered who exactly had said that so he could give them a nice slap to the back of the head, because however large the Badlands were, they were still _too big_. The last several megacycles he had spent driving across the horrendous stretch of land had been the worst ones of his life, the only company being the rusted remains of others foolish enough to make the trek through the Badlands without enough supplies. Well, and Sandstorm and Gears. Sandstorm wasn't too bad but Gears didn't count as company anymore. Not after he'd complained for five megacycles straight.

Regarding more pertinent matters—specifically the thing that had sentenced him to this Primus-forsaken land of the pit in the first place—there had still been no sign of the Lightning Strike Coalition. Which meant that firstly: he had nothing to report to Captain Rodimus, and secondly: he had to continue onwards, further and further into the Badlands, suffering through Gears's griping all the way until they found something. On the plus side, the longer they went without seeing Grimlock and the others, the more chance there was that they had made it to the other side of the Badlands. Which, of course, would mean that his little group would eventually be able to leave the slagging _Badlands_.

"—and have I mentioned how the terrain is scraping up my wheels? Really, I'll be buffing the scratches out for solar cycles—"

"Hey, Windcharger?" Sandstorm asked, cutting Gears off before he could keep going. "Think we should stop and refu—"

" _Yes_ ," Windcharger replied enthusiastically, already checking for a good place. He couldn't take much more of Gears's voice. "Over here." He led the way to an area that was, technically, no different from everywhere else in the Badlands, but was clearer of rust and debris.

Sandstorm pulled up beside him and transformed, making a show of stretching his limbs. "Primus, a bot wasn't meant to be in vehicle mode for so long . . ."

"That so?" Windcharger chuckled.

"Does that mean traveling can be called unnatural? Because I always told bots so, but they'd never listen to me," Gears grumbled, rolling up to the pair.

"Don't be so negative, Gears. Traveling's fun!" Sandstorm shot back, giving his fellow off-roader a playful thwak on the shoulder.

Gears snorted. "I'm not being negative, I'm being honest. Don't know what I expected you to say though, as I said, no one listens to me."

"No one listens to you because your opinions are gloomy, sour, and unpopular," Windcharger drawled, rolling his optics as he reached into his subspace to retrieve a cube of energon. He eyed the relatively tiny cube and sighed, choosing a spot on the ground to sit down and refuel.

"Well, _your_ opinion wasn't requested."

"Ah, come on, guys, let's just enjoy our energon, shall we?" Sandstorm cut in, raising his cube above his head before taking a seat beside Windcharger.

"Oh, fine," the blue and red mech conceded. "It'll probably be sour though . . . kind of like my _opinions_."

Windcharger rolled his optics and took a drink, making a face at the cube. "Ugh . . . I can't argue with _that_ opinion."

"Called it."

"Yeaaaah, can't say I'm in love with the taste our energon's had lately," the orange triplechanger agreed. "How long has it been like this? Six, seven orbital-cycles?"

"More like eight."

Windcharger groaned. The last thing he needed was to let Gears get started on another subject to complain about. "We only have to deal with this until the energon flow picks up again, okay?"

Sandstorm nodded. "I know. It's still annoying as frag though." He took another swig from his cube. "When do you think it'll pick up?"

"Dunno."

"Probably after I've rusted into a pile of scrap metal," Gears muttered.

Windcharger groaned. " _Primus_ , Gears, would it kill you to be optimistic for once in your life?" he grumbled, casting the other mech an irritated look.

The grounder stared back with a dull expression. "It might."

The red and grey mech blinked, his frown deepening. "Now you're just doing it to spite me."

" _So_ ," Sandstorm blurted, putting an early end to whatever Gears was going to retort, "any ideas on what the Lightning Strikeowhozits might have been looking for?"

Windcharger sighed and decided to take the hint and drop his beginning argument with Gears, turning his attention to his more agreeable traveling companion. "It's 'Lightning Strike Coalition,' and beats me. Grimlock wasn't in the habit of sharing his hunches with anyone but his own team."

"Yeah. Best guess is he's going someplace where he believes there to be Decepticons," Gears added dryly. "Unfortunately for us, that doesn't exactly narrow things down."

"Grimlock like a fight or something?" the triplechanger asked.

Windcharger smirked and shared a knowing look with the blue and red mech. "Does Grimlock like a fight?" he laughed. "He's as bad as Blades. Only angrier."

Sandstorm's optics widened. ". . . Oh. So he's—?"

"—Got a thing for making 'Cons lose energon?" Gears finished. "Definitely. He collects their _heads_. Freaks us all out."

Windcharger could sympathize with the disgusted, slightly horrified expression Sandstorm was wearing upon learning that information. He'd made a similar face when he'd learned of the tank-former's . . . collection. "And Rodimus _lets_ him?" the orange mech inquired.

Windcharger shrugged. "He doesn't approve, but if you knew Grimlock, you'd know it's better to let him do his thing and not bother him. Or Snarl and Slag. They get violent and stubborn when angry."

Sandstorm shook his head. "I'm really starting to see why you two weren't too keen on tracking these guys down."

"You know what Grimlock's gonna do if we find them?" Gears stated rhetorically. "He's gonna say: 'What are you doing here? I don't need the help of some weak-armored grounders, beat it!' and then we will, because he's a _tank_ and we're not. A bigger gun means a bigger vote."

Windcharger rolled his optics. "I doubt Rodimus expected we'd be able to bring them back. He just wants us to find out where they've gone and report back."

"What if they're in trouble though? We can't do nothing if that's the case," Sandstorm argued.

"We'll figure that out if we have to. Otherwise, I like the idea of going back to Proximax," he continued before gulping down the rest of the sour energon in his cube. Expecting Gears to pipe up and agree with him, he glanced over at the other grounder, frowning when he saw him staring off into space. "Gears? The energon too sour for your CPU to handle?"

Gears glared at him for a nanoklik before pointing at something on the horizon. "No, I was just thinking that it's weird to see something that big in the Badlands."

Windcharger and Sandstorm followed the other mech's pointed digit to find themselves squinting at what appeared to be a large structure far in the distance. ". . . That _is_ weird," Sandstorm agreed, a visor sliding over his optics.

Gears glanced at him and snorted. "Why am I not surprised that you have a magnification visor?"

"Because I'm a scout, and most scouts have them?" the triplechanger snorted back, focusing his attention on the horizon.

Windcharger furrowed his optic ridges at the structure and stood. "I'll bet that's their ship!" he exclaimed, transforming back into vehicle mode and taking off towards the presumed ship.

"It does look like a sh—Hey! Wait!" Sandstorm shouted after him.

Windcharger didn't slow down, rather, he sped up. He was _sick_ of the Badlands, and if that was Grimlock's ship, then hopefully Grimlock and the others would be there and he could get out of this veritable valley of offlining.

* * *

Bluestreak fidgeted in place as he anxiously waited for Skyfire and Powerglide to finish landing. It had basically been a gift from Primus when the shuttle had arrived in the city with the aerial, and despite his presence being a fairly good distraction from his worries, Bluestreak was still eager to see Sideswipe. Sideswipe was good at distracting him when he started to dwell on things. However . . . he knew something bad had clearly happened on this mission since the latest dose of bad news had come from Optimus himself, so what if Sideswipe was just as in need of a distraction as he was? Then what would he do? Primus, what would either of them do?

He was about ready to slap _himself_ in the face to silence his frantic worrying when Skyfire opened his hatch, allowing the bots inside to disembark. Ironhide exited first, followed by Warpath. By the time Bluestreak spotted Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, he had noticed something disturbing. Ironhide and Warpath weren't joking with each other or laughing about how easily they beat the Decepticons they faced. Powerglide wasn't bragging about his flying and no one was telling him to shut up. Sideswipe wasn't dramatically announcing that they'd arrived only to receive a slap on the arm from an annoyed Sunstreaker. Bluestreak's doorwings had already begun to droop by the time he saw Optimus, the last to exit. He didn't understand, Prowl had said they hadn't lost anyone, but Optimus was acting like they had. What happened?

Taking a quick vent to try to calm himself and banish his creeping panic, Bluestreak scurried over to Sideswipe and tried to don a friendly smile. "Hey, welcome back, Sides!" he said, grimacing internally after the words left his vocalizer. He still sounded like he was on the verge of hysteria, even with all his efforts to be otherwise.

Sideswipe looked up at him when he spoke, donning a weak smile. "Oh, hey, Blue," he replied, sounding oddly subdued.

Bluestreak's wings twitched as he got closer, giving Sunstreaker a quick half-smile too. "Hi, Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker glanced at him and gave an acknowledging grunt, but otherwise didn't really react.

Bluestreak bit his lip and tried to reassure himself by saying Sunstreaker, at least, seemed to be acting normal. Unfortunately, his CPU reminded him that he didn't really know the golden-yellow mech all that well and he wasn't the type to wear his feelings like a badge regardless. _'Thanks, CPU,'_ he grumbled before focusing his attention back on Sideswipe. He quickly decided he didn't like the look on the front liner's face. "Um . . . you okay, Sides?" he asked quietly, playing with his digits.

"Huh?" Sideswipe said distractedly, dragging himself back from wherever his CPU had wandered to. "What?"

The praxian wiggled in place, clasping his servos behind his back in an attempt to still them. It wasn't working. ". . . You look upset. You okay?"

The taller mech blinked. ". . . Oh . . . that," he mumbled, fidgeting a bit himself. "It's . . . Well . . . No," he finally admitted with a quiet sigh. ". . . It'll . . . It'll get better though. I'm sure it will."

Bluestreak narrowed his optics a bit at his friend. "It?. . . And you don't sound like you believe that."

Sideswipe plastered a nervous-looking smile on his face. "What? Uh, heh, of course I do!" The smile soon wilted, however, under the smaller bot's disbelieving gaze. ". . . I have to, _someone_ has to . . ." he said, looking at the ground.

At that, Bluestreak looked away too. ". . . Yeah, I know the feeling. I've been worried sick about practically everything since we heard Velocitron was under attack. Now I'm going crazy telling myself to relax but I _can't_ because Chromia said the Autobots in Velocitron are probably _offline_ and so are most of the neutrals and Prowl's upset and Optimus apparently had some horrible news and Marcon's been hit by a scrapping _super bomb_ and who knows what else is . . . What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both stared at him with nearly identical expressions of shock. "Marcon's been _what_!?" Sideswipe exclaimed, the question echoed in Sunstreaker's gaze.

Bluestreak blinked before sheepishly shrinking back. "I . . . What? You . . . You didn't know?"

Sideswipe shook his head. "No! What the . . . _Super bomb_!? What the frag do you mean, _super bomb_!?"

Bluestreak fidgeted again. "Uh . . ." he eloquently began before biting the inside of his cheek. "Well, we don't really have any details, but Marcon was bombed somehow a few megacycles ago. It wasn't long after the 'Cons moved on from Velocitron. I said super bomb because the explosion was _huge_ you could see it from here . . . I wasn't looking, but the bots who were made it hard not to notice it happened," he explained. Sideswipe was having a hard time absorbing this, he could tell. It was much like how he'd felt, probably, the fact that it had happened not really sinking in for a while. Then, as Bluestreak found himself remembering, Sideswipe likely already _knew_ the awful news Optimus had, so he was probably still absorbing _that_ and _Velocitron_ and now _Marcon_ just like Bluestreak would once he found out what Optimus had to say.

". . . Primus . . ." the red mech vented, bringing a servo up to his forehead as he turned away. "That's . . . _Primus_ . . ."

After fidgeting even more, Bluestreak inched his way over to give the other mech a hug. ". . . We'll be okay, right? It'll be okay?"

Sideswipe grimaced and returned the hug. ". . . I think so. I _wanna_ think so," he replied, his voice shaky.

". . . Yeah, me too . . ." Bluestreak agreed. ". . . How bad is it? Prime's news?" he whispered.

". . . Bad. Really, _really_ , bad," Sideswipe answered, tightening his grip for a moment before letting go. He looked around for a moment with a puzzled expression before looking back at Bluestreak. ". . . Where'd Sunny go?"

Bluestreak blinked again before looking around as well. That was weird, it was like Sunstreaker had disappeared. ". . . I don't know, I didn't see him leave. Sorry."

"It's fine," Sideswipe muttered, stepping around the praxian. "Um . . . I'm, uh, gonna go find him."

Bluestreak nodded. "Oh, okay. Maybe he went to your quarters?"

"Maybe. See ya, Blue," the other mech said, giving Bluestreak a little wave as he left.

"Yeah, see you," Bluestreak said back, returning the wave. After that he decided to hunt down Smokescreen. The bot wasn't the greatest company, but he'd help keep Bluestreak's CPU off of things. He really didn't want to think about Sideswipe's answer to his question.

* * *

The world had to be a strange place from his perspective. That was what bots always told Blitzwing, but they always seemed to forget one particular detail. He had never seen it any other way. One moment, anything and everything could enrage him at any given nanoklik; the next, he was hard pressed to care about anything. The third way he viewed the world, honestly, sometimes baffled even himself, but it was hardly abnormal to him. He had simply been sparked with three separate personalities all warring for control of his frame, and that was that.

Other mechs, such as two of very mechs stationed with him at present, preferred using more than one vehicle mode themselves, but oddly enough it wasn't considered strange when _they_ did it. How . . . unfair. He could hardly bring himself to care though, luckily for his compatriots.

Examining his digits with the indifference of his old commanders, Blitzwing let out a bored sigh and simply watched his fellow triplechangers mine. He supposed it was lucky that he was nothing more than a guard. It made his job easy. On the other servo, it was _too_ easy. Generally, guard duty meant blasting any curious bots who got too close. In the Badlands, however, it meant standing around for megacycles on end. Megacycles comprised of nothing but infernal silence and peaceable surroundings full of rusted corpses. Not to mention that the company was hardly good for conversation. Lugnut only knew of one topic, it seemed, that being Megatron's greatness. Oh, Megatron was a brilliant leader, of course, but one could only reiterate that fact so many different ways before it became dull; and Lugnut had long since crossed that threshold, to the point where the line was nothing more than a faint memory. How incredibly _dull_.

Dragging his optics away from Octane and Astrotrain, Blitzwing begrudgingly scanned the horizon in order to do his job. He didn't understand why exactly he needed to be there anyway. The insecticons had proven perfectly capable of doing the work on their own when that group of Autobot tanks had shown up, so why did Shockwave suddenly decide to assign extra hydraulical force now? It really made no sense.

"See anything?" A gravelly voice inquired, a dark shadow falling over the triplechanger from behind.

Blitzwing looked over his shoulder at the large, hulking aerial behind him. "As I said the last tventy times you asked, if I see something, I vill _tell_ you, and you vill not have to ask," he replied dryly.

Lugnut growled. "It's too quiet out here. I don't like it."

"Vell, on that, ve can agree," Blitzwing said.

"It's only a matter of time before some Autobots come looking for their missing comrades," Lugnut continued, performing, by the looks of it, his own sweep of the horizon.

"Yes, but I don't see vhy Shockvave believed our support to be necessary. The Insecticons handled things just fine, from vhat I heard," Blitzwing grumbled in a bored tone.

"When one Autobot goes missing, five come looking," Lugnut shot back, squinting at what he evidently considered to be a very suspicious outcropping.

Blitzwing reluctantly nodded his agreement, crossing his arms when he leaned back against their ship. Lugnut had a point, but from what he understood, the captured Autobots were particularly notorious amongst the Decepticon ranks for being ruthless and incredibly powerful. He honestly doubted that any would-be rescuers would be an issue, but he supposed it was better to be over prepared than under prepared. Especially when energon was involved.

A soft noise sent his optics darting over to another outcropping that was slightly behind their ship, narrowing them in suspicion. ". . . Lugnut," he said quietly.

The aerial turned to face him. "What?"

"I heard something," Blitzwing explained, indicating the place he believed to be the origin of the noise. "I believe it came from over there."

"Then what are you waiting for!? Get going!" Lugnut stated with aggravation. "Nothing can interfere with Lord Megatron's plans!"

Blitzwing reached out and grabbed the larger mech's wrist when he tried to pass. "Vait, ve need to do this tactfully."

Lugnut blinked. "What? Why? Decepticons don't hold back and cower! We destroy all that opposes our great master!"

Blitzwing resisted the urge to roll his optics. "I do not believe that our uninvited guests have seen the energon. Ve need to ensure it stays that vay." He looked off to the side and took notice of an obscured path up to the outcropping. "Follow me."

* * *

Windcharger cringed at the sight before him while he hiked up the small hill. The closer he got, the more obvious it was that the ship they had seen was not Grimlock's, but rather Decepticon in origin. A realization which, of course, brought with it the question of what Decepticons were doing in the Badlands. Was this what Grimlock was looking for? Gears was right, he _did_ seem to have been looking for a fight, but he was certain there had to be more to it than that. Grimlock wasn't stupid. Nasty, cruel, spiteful, and volatile, sure; but not stupid. He wouldn't have brought his entire team all this way just to fight a few Decepticons. Proximax was near the front lines, so there were easier ways to do that. No, it had to be something else. He just needed a better look . . .

::Windcharger, what are you doing!?:: Sandstorm asked urgently over the commline.

::Yeah, do you _want_ to offline yourself? Because there are simpler ways,:: Gears chimed in.

::That's a Decepticon ship!::

::I _know_ it's a Decepticon ship, and I also know that it probably has something to do with Grimlock!:: Windcharger replied, crouching a bit lower and rolling his optics. ::They're definitely up to something, and I'd bet my spoiler that Grimlock came because he learned of the Decepticon activity!::

::But it's dangerous! Would you at least hang on until Gears and I can catch up? You know, your _team_ that you ditched at the camp?:: Sandstorm retorted in annoyance.

::I always did want a spoiler,:: Gears drawled.

::It's not my fault you two are slow!:: Windcharger shot back at Sandstorm.

::We aren't slow, you're just fast, and need I remind you again that you _ditched_ us? I know Gears can get annoying, but that stings!:: the triplechanger argued.

::So, if we find Grimlock and he says he came out here for a reason other than 'Decepticon activity,' I can have your spoiler?:: Gears continued. ::That's how bets work, right?::

Windcharger rolled his optics again. ::Fine, whatever, Gears,:: he grumbled. It's not like he was going to be wrong, after all. ::If I win, you shut up for a deca-cycle.::

::Deal.::

::Anyway, I wasn't trying to ditch you, I was trying to get to the ship as fast as possible because I'm _sick_ of this place!::

::. . . Fine. I guess I can understand that,:: Sandstorm begrudgingly agreed. ::Still, would you _please_ stay put until we get there?::

::Okay, okay. Just hurry up, would you?::

::Lighten up, we're almost there.::

With that, Windcharger proceeded to back up a little. When he did so, however, he noticed something out of the corner of his optic. It looked an awful lot like . . . ::AGH! NOT WAITING, NOT WAITING!:: he shouted over the comm, backpedaling quickly to get away from the large, tank-like gun barrel that had appeared over the ridge.

::Wha—? Windcharger!:: Sandstorm squawked. ::We literally _just_ talked about th—::

A loose bit of ground was knocked loose from his scrambling, sending him tumbling down the hill at the same moment the Decepticon the barrel belonged to decided to shoot. The blast sailed over his helm a moment after he slipped making it hard to be too upset at his fall once he hit the ground. Cringing at the ringing in his audios from the shot, he yanked himself to his pedes and transformed, setting his speed to full throttle.

::Was that gun fire!? What's going on over there!? Are you okay!?:: Sandstorm demanded, sounding panicked.

::Dented, but alive. 'Cons found me. A tank. Don't think he's alone,:: Windcharger explained hurriedly, looking back to see if the Decepticon was following. The tank that fired had disappeared, but in its place were a jet and a very large bomber, and they were most definitely following. In the distance, he could see a few more figures appearing over the ridge. ::Definitely not alone. Fall back, we're outnumbered!:: he yelped. As much as the other mech's complaining bothered him, Gears was right about one thing: they couldn't take on a force that defeated the Lightning Strike Coalition. ::They're probably protecting something. If we get far enough away, they might give up on the chase.::

::I suppose that counts as a plan,:: Gears griped.

::Couldn't we just ditch him? We're faster than tanks,:: Sandstorm said.

Windcharger hissed. Suddenly, he wished the tank was the one following. ::No, the tank's gone and disappeared. I've got a jet and a bomber on my tailpipe, and I saw more 'Cons on the ridge. Don't think they're following yet, but I'm sure they will if we stick around.::

::Primus! You think you can catch up to us?::

::Yeah. I'm fast, remember?:: Windcharger let out a startled yell when gun fire grazed his side, pulling left before pulling right in a zigzag pattern. Once he was confident that he was a difficult target, he activated his weapons and returned fire. His hopes weren't high for actually knocking the aerials out of the sky, but he could try. Surprisingly, he almost nailed the jet on his first shot.

Perhaps more surprisingly, however, was what ensued after. Windcharger heard what he was fairly certain was the jet shouting and cursing at him, when suddenly the jet transformed mid-air into the disappeared tank. This was not a good decision, however, and the triplechanger—as Windcharger now knew he was—seemed to realize this too late, screaming "OH SLAG!" loudly enough to be heard despite the distance and roar of the Autobot's engine.

"BLITZWING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" the bomber exclaimed in a booming voice as his compatriot plummeted to the ground.

Windcharger stopped paying attention when the larger aerial shouted for the other mech to transform back into jet mode, instead veering to the side when he noticed a large outcropping. With the cover it provided, he might just be able to lose the pursuing Decepticons.

* * *

There was an eerie silence throughout the halls of Forza once the news had spread. Mechs and femmes alike found themselves paying extra close attention to their assignments, as even one little mistake could mean offlining when _he_ was at the base and in such a bad mood. It was bad enough when Starscream was there, short as it was, but this was a whole different story. Lord Megatron _himself_ had arrived with his third-in-command, Soundwave, not two megacycles before, and he did _not_ seem happy. Their leader had clearly heard of the base's altercation with the Autobots, but the question wasn't _if_ he'd do anything about it, but _what_ he was _going_ to do about it. There was no doubt that someone was going to be punished _severely_ , possibly (probably) even paying for their mistake with their life.

"Soundwave, report," Megatron stated, his arms crossed as he strode across the vacated conference room towards his third.

"Situation: as described by Ransack. Sentries: failed to perform necessary area sweep in hall 4-G. Autobot intruder: entered through unsecured vent in hall," Soundwave answered, displaying information on his faceplate. "Mech on monitor duty: did not pay attention. Base: alerted to intrusion by one Runamuck and one Runabout. Starscream: alerted by one Acid Storm."

A dangerous glint flashed through Megatron's optics. It seemed as though Forza had a problem with lazy soldiers prone to gross negligence. This would need to be rectified. "I see." He turned towards the large windows looking out over the ruins of the city. "The sentries and the other mech . . . What are their names?"

* * *

Not in their quarters, not in the rec room, not on the landing platform, not with Ironhide, not lurking in the shadows glaring at everything that moved . . . Sideswipe was running out of places to look for his brother. To make matters even more frustrating, the other bots from his squadron kept giving him funny looks whenever he asked them for ideas regarding where to look. Like Beatbox.

"Me? How should I know where he'd run off to, all I know about the mech is that he likes to scowl at me," the larger grounder stated, shrugging unhelpfully. "You're his brother, don't you know where he goes?"

Sideswipe let out an aggravated hiss, planting his servos on his hips and kicking the floor. "Not really."

Beatbox's expression only grew more puzzled. "Seriously? He's that grumpy?"

Sideswipe blinked, looking at Beatbox like he'd suddenly grown a second head. "Wha—? No, it's just . . ." Sunstreaker had randomly decided to stop telling him things. "He's just . . ." an infuriatingly stubborn glitch at times . . . No, no, he couldn't tell him that. ". . . I-it's a new base, I don't know what spots he's gotten, uh, attached to, yet," he lied instead, donning a sheepish grin to help sell the story.

"Oh, I see. So it's less a question of if I know where he's gone, and more of a 'have you seen him?'" Beatbox said, buying Sideswipe's little bluff.

"Err . . . yeah." The red mech sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "We, uh, kinda just learned about what happened over at Marcon, so . . . Well, he just sorta disappeared afterwards, so . . . yeah . . . You seen him, lately?"

"Can't say I have. Sorry, Siders," Beatbox answered apologetically. ". . . What kind of place does he usually run off to?"

Sideswipe kept up his more flippant, unbothered expression with practiced ease, not letting on for an instant that he hadn't the slightest idea what his brother did with himself. "Uh . . ." Slag, if he didn't come up with an answer, the larger front liner was sure to catch on . . . but maybe Sunstreaker still liked the same places he did back home. That would make sense. ". . . Well, he likes . . . roofs. And balconies. Other scenic look-down-at-a-view-y places," he said, shrugging like it was fact and not an educated guess.

"Well, if that's the case, one of the, uh, 'locals' told me that there are some pretty nice balconies on the thirtieth floor. You oughta try there."

"Really?" Sideswipe said hopefully, nearly forgetting to act nonplussed. He cleared his intake and slid back into his more cheerful persona. "Thanks. This place is so huge, I was starting to wonder." He turned around and waved at the other bot, intent on tracking down the brother that had ditched him.

"By the way, you allowed to talk about that mission you two were sent on? I'm going nuts with curiosity."

The red mech froze entirely too quickly to play it off, his grim mood returning like a ton of I-beams. "Err . . . Well . . ." He sighed again, letting his shoulders droop. ". . . You'll find out soon," he finally answered, making a break for it a moment later.

Racing to the nearest lift, Sideswipe skidded inside moments before the door could close. "Whew, made it!" he joked, leaning against the railing. A glance around at his company, however, made his quiet chuckles fade away. Somber almost felt like an understatement in describing their expressions.

"Floor?" the one beside the control panel asked with disinterest, the look of despair on his face making Sideswipe feel very awkward.

"Uh . . . Thirty," he replied quietly. ". . . You okay?"

"As okay as someone who just learned his best friend is offline can be," the bot responded, not even glancing over.

Sideswipe felt sick. Right. Velocitron was taken and Marcon attacked. Which meant they'd just lost many good mechs and femmes. ". . . Oh." He shrank back and made his way over to the corner, getting comfortable on the floor when he noticed how many other stops the lift needed to make before reaching the thirtieth floor. He'd never liked feeling sad, or angry, but there were times when he just couldn't fight it no matter how hard he tried. In a matter of nanokliks, Sideswipe's expression perfectly matched the mood in the lift. So many bots, gone. The Decepticons made it hard to regret snuffing their sparks, squeamish or not.

He grimaced and folded himself up, resting his head on his knees. He had to find Sunstreaker. Hopefully his brother would be feeling accommodating, and not be in that strange, unfeeling-loner sort of mood he seemed to prefer lately. He could really use the other mech's company right about now.

The next couple of cycles seemed to crawl, Sideswipe's face soon becoming buried under his arms. He hated the thoughts going through his processor. He hated what he wanted to do to the Decepticons. He didn't _like_ killing, he shouldn't be thinking that way, but he couldn't help himself. Remembering that Bluestreak's other siblings were in Marcon did not help.

"Hey, you. You wanted the thirtieth floor, right?"

Sideswipe looked up, giving the bot who spoke a hollow stare. "What?"

The femme pointed at the open doors. "We're on the thirtieth floor. That's where you wanted to go, right?"

Sideswipe stared at the open exit for a couple more moments before hauling himself to his pedes. "Right . . . Thanks." He stepped outside and took a couple of deep vents once the doors slid shut behind him. He then took off down the hallway, looking around the surprisingly empty corridors as he looked for these balconies, and any sign of his brother.

A flash of yellow caught his optic through a doorway, and had him skidding to a stop. He backed up and approached the entryway, relief flooding through him when he confirmed that yes, the source of the yellow was Sunstreaker. It seemed he did still like high, deserted places.

Sideswipe stepped out onto the balcony, crossing his arms atop the railing at his brother's left side. Out of the corner of his optic, he could just make out the look on Sunstreaker's face. While to the average observer it simply looked like an angrier version of his normal expression, Sideswipe knew better. The trick to finding out how Sunstreaker felt was his optics, and the other bot was looking more enraged and murderous than Sideswipe had ever seen him since they'd lost Silverspin. ". . . Hey, Sunny," he greeted awkwardly, forcing a small, lopsided smile.

Sunstreaker said nothing, his optics staying locked on the horizon. It wasn't until Sideswipe followed his gaze that he realized Sunstreaker was looking at the gigantic cloud of smoke on the far horizon.

After a few more nanokliks of frigid silence, Sideswipe decided to keep talking. ". . . So, this is where you disappeared to. You had me running all over the place trying to hunt you down, heheh." Still no response. "Beatbox noticed how much you glare at him, by the way, and I don't think he knows it's because that . . . erm, 'paint job' of his personally offends you," he continued, only to be met with more silence. Grimacing as his nervous laughter died, he felt his mood slipping once again. ". . . I'm scared, Sunny. Things haven't been this bad for a long time. What's next? When's it all going to stop?"

Sunstreaker's expression darkened further. "When every last one of them is offline," he growled, spinning on his heel and walking back inside without another word.

Sideswipe watched him go, going back and forth with himself over whether or not to follow. Ultimately, he decided to stay, slumping against the rail. So, Sunstreaker was still completely disinterested with helping him. He wanted to be upset, but frankly he was just too exhausted to really care. He just didn't understand it. Sunstreaker used to always be there for him when he was upset, and he was there for Sunstreaker. For some reason though, his brother now insisted on keeping him at arm's length, and seemed to have an inordinate thirst for Decepticon energon. With one last sigh, Sideswipe tuned back to the horizon, hoping to Primus that everything would turn out alright.

* * *

To say that the Decepticons of Forza were on edge was an understatement, that much was certain. Megatron felt rather satisfied with the terror he could see in the optics of the assembled troops before him, and they were most certainly terrified for good reason. They had failed him, miserably so, and they were lucky that Operation Trypticon was not only complete, but something he intended for the Autobots to learn of eventually. However, the fact that this did not have serious repercussions for him did not excuse incompetence. A lesson needed to be learned here, and he would ensure that this garrison would not forget it for a long time.

"Attention, Decepticons of Forza," he began in a deceptively neutral tone. "It has been brought to my attention that there has been a little . . . _incident_ here recently. An incident which could have been avoided, had proper procedure and vigilance been employed. Now, the details of a complete operation is hardly a great loss, but the fact is—as I'm sure you are all aware—that it could have just as easily been something important which was stolen. As such, I find it necessary to inform you all of what happened." He stepped ever-so-slightly closer to the soldiers. "Corkscrew! Blazer! Deadbolt! Present yourselves!"

There was a slight scuffle while the summoned mechs scrambled to step forward, lining up at attention in front of their comrades. "Yes, Lord Megatron!" they said in unison.

Megatron sneered. They were either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. "Seven solar cycles ago, Deadbolt and Corkscrew here evidently decided that doing a security sweep of hall 4-G was _unnecessary_ ," he continued, addressing the crowd once again.

The crowd murmured in response, and more than a few frosty, hateful glares were directed at the mechs in question. Deadbolt and Corkscrew visibly blanched at their leader's words.

"The result of this was, of course, the Autobot infiltrator; none other than Jazz, one of Prime's thirds." At this point, Megatron began to let his displeasure seep into his voice. "Even still, this could have yet been prevented were it not for _Blazer_ deeming his shift at the monitors the perfect time to take a quick nap."

The glares directed at Deadbolt and Corkscrew swiftly moved to the other mech.

"Yet _even then_ , there was _no_ reason why that Autobot should have gotten so far. Is this fortress not the pride of the Decepticons, second _only_ to Darkmount? Are you not some of the best among my ranks!?" Megatron said, finally letting his rage show. " _Idiots_!" The soldiers could scarcely blink before he blasted Deadbolt in the head, offlining the mech instantaneously. "You're an embarrassment to my army!" he hissed, narrowing his optics at the two remaining mechs cowering before him.

"P-p-please, L-Lord Megatron, I-it won't happen again!" one of them said, though at this point Megatron didn't care who it was.

"Correct," Megatron agreed darkly, leveling his fusion cannon at the pair. They were in pieces before they could run three steps. Lowering his arm, he slid his gaze to the silent crowd before him. "If I ever hear of such incompetence from my soldiers again, I will not hesitate to deliver them the same fate! _AM I UNDERSTOOD!_?"

"YES, LORD MEGATRON!" the troops shouted, snapping to attention.

"Good," Megatron stated, turning to leave with Soundwave right behind him. "Someone clean up this mess. Dismissed!" The sound of hundreds of pedes racing to leave was the first thing he heard once the door had slid shut behind him. "Perhaps you will think twice before you disappoint me again."

Striding through the halls on his way to the main control room, many Decepticons gave him a wider berth than usual. They had likely not been at his reaming, as some bots needed to remain on duty, but could still guess what had happened. His fusion cannon was still giving off a bit of heat, after all.

Once he reached the control room, he keyed the door open and stepped inside, leaving Soundwave to lock the entrance. "Compara-7, contact the Hydrax Plateau," he ordered, stepping up to the main computer.

"Contacting . . ." droned the computer.

Soundwave arrived behind him just as the screen changed, displaying the image of the control room at the Hydrax Plateau. "Lord Megatron," the mech on the other end greeted. "I have been awaiting your call."

"Shockwave, I can see that your little project was a success. The bomb leveled more than half of Marcon in an instant," Megatron replied.

"Yes, project En-6 beta appears to have gone off perfectly," Shockwave agreed.

"Starscream: reports widespread destruction and panic," Soundwave added.

"Do I have your approval to create more, Lord Megatron?"

"You do," Megatron affirmed with a nod, "and I am eager to see what other weapons you can create from the dark energon."

"Of course, I have many theories and hypotheses to test."

"Do you have anything to report?"

"Ah, yes." Shockwave pulled a data pad out of his subspace. "As you know, my attempts to recreate the ancients' space bridge technology instead created a window to other planets, at a time in the past. Through this, I discovered creatures of remarkable size and physical prowess, and with designs that—with sufficient modifications—could become excellent soldiers or weapons platforms. Some Autobots that my Insecticons recently captured have proven to be suitable test subjects for this project. Results have varied, with one subject offlining from the procedure."

Megatron raised an optic ridge. "I see. Keep me updated on this."

"Of course." The scientist tapped a few buttons on the data pad before continuing. "I am also pleased to report that I have deduced the problem in the space bridge mainframe, and should be ready to test its effectiveness again once I have corrected it."

A smile pulled at Megatron's lips. "Excellent. Do you have an estimate for when you'll be finished?"

"I am afraid not, sir. Only time will tell how difficult a malfunction this will be to correct," Shockwave answered. "I shall keep you informed of my progress, however."

"Good. Keep at it, Shockwave, I want that space bridge." Megatron turned to leave, once again leaving Soundwave to terminate the communication. "Oh, and begin Operation Nemesis. I get the feeling my old friend didn't like what he found at the core."

* * *

Notes:

First Aid - G1

Blitzwing - Animated

Lugnut - Animated

Megatron - Primarily Prime/Exodus, with IDW, WFC, and FoC influence

Soundwave - Prime, G1

Shockwave - FoC


End file.
